


Le Moteur et L'ingénieur

by determunition



Category: Shovel Knight
Genre: I guess???, M/M, More characters to be added as they appear - Freeform, Post-Showdown, Slow Burn, post-king of cards, spoilers for both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/determunition/pseuds/determunition
Summary: King Pridemoor sends out a kingdom-wide invitation to what promises to be the gala of the year, an implication that does nothing to convince the increasingly reticent Tinker Knight to attend it. However, his unwaveringly effusive client is determined to change his mind, eager to get better acquainted and certain that such a lavish event will invoke sides of Tinker beyond his diligence and mechanical prowess. What Propeller Knight does not take into consideration is just how compelling those sides might be.
Relationships: Propeller Knight/Tinker Knight
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39





	1. Propulsion and Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> So I feel like I'm a year or six late to this fandom, but I just played through Propeller's story mode in Showdown and there were enough barely suggestive lines of dialogue that I ended the experience with a void to be filled. I have never earnestly written a shipfic before (outside of satires) so there's no guarantee how this will turn out, but I do hope it is at least a ride you will join me on. No matter my writing weaknesses, I am determined to sell this ship as hard as I can. With that said, enjoy! Any comments you may feel compelled to make are much appreciated.

“Did you hear about tonight’s soirée, _mon petit ami?_ ”

Tinker Knight didn’t look up from the repairs he was making to the flying machine. He could listen and work decently enough. “Can’t say I did. Pass the torque wrench, would you?”

Propeller Knight flew himself over to the top of the engine Tinker was currently gutting out, where several tools had been secured to the iron chassis. He didn’t know who Propeller had on staff as a mechanic, but he wished he could personally oversee their being fired. So many wires were tangled, uninsulated, even hanging cut with seemingly no circuit to connect. If Tinker wasn’t so concerned with remaining professional, he’d be ranting about the whole mess to Propeller as if the latter was one of the cogslotters. As it stood, however, Tinker was determined to stay the straight man between the two of them. Someone had to compensate for Propeller’s disastrous devil-may-care attitude, after all. 

“Ah, you must have received an invitation, at least!” exclaimed Propeller, positioning himself on his stomach to hand Tinker the wrench, before propping his masked face on his hands to watch him work. “As far as I could puzzle out, us former Order members received two! One from the king himself, and one from our dear gilded friend…though that particular epithet may be a bit strong, ha!”

“The king?” Tinker asked distractedly, trying to loosen a stuck bolt with the wrench he’d been given. “And what’s that, uh, golden fiend want from us now?” He was never all that good at coming up with poetic insults on the fly. 

Propeller gasped. “ _Mon dieu_ , do you read your mail at all?” 

Tinker shrugged. He had machines to sort it for him, and anything about parties usually went straight into the incinerator. “Well, I can certainly summarize… The king is hosting a gala, to celebrate his and the soon-to-be Queen Pridemoor’s engagement!” Propeller paused right after, apparently expecting some kind of reaction from Tinker. 

“Ehh, sounds…neat…” he said half-heartedly, to fill the silence. Propeller rolled onto his back so he was facing the sky. 

“It’s more than neat, _mon ami_ , it’s love!” he sighed melodramatically. “They’ve been in love since before the Enchantress’s terrible reign… At least, that is what King Knight’s letter said!”

“Mm, yeah, you mentioned he sent a letter too…” Tinker said, setting the garbage pile of old wires aside. As much as he wanted to just chuck the godless mess over the side of the deck, it was much safer to dispose of it once he was back on the ground. “Anything worth knowing in that one?” 

“Ah, now that one, I would say, was far more worth the read…” Propeller mused as he sat back up, and Tinker could almost hear the smirk forming on his face. It was always easy to read Propeller’s mood, with all the extra dramatic cadence he pumped into his voice. “He’s practically begging for all seven of us, above all else, to act…well, to put it bluntly, responsible! During the party, that is.” 

Tinker raised an eyebrow under his welding mask, still not looking up from his work. “Why’d he ask a thing like that?” 

Propeller’s legs hung over the side of the engine, and he swung them back and forth absentmindedly. “Well, now, that is an interesting question… But, indeed, the answer’s quite clear. The future Mrs. Pridemoor is our King Knight’s mother, you see.”

“Eh-?” That got Tinker to stop and reboot a moment. “You mean King could have waited a year or two and gotten in line for the throne without throwing in his lot with the Enchantress?”

Propeller chuckled in response. “I know, I know, it’s quite amusing, isn’t it? But it’s true! And while, in his letter, he simply requested we do not ‘ruin the night’, whatever that’s supposed to mean…”

“Mhm…” muttered Tinker, having a pretty good idea of what that was supposed to mean. 

“…I hypothesize there to be more complex variables at play!” 

Tinker couldn’t help but roll his eyes a little (at least Propeller couldn’t see them). Ever since he’d started talking more about his work around the sky-dwelling socialite, what theorems he was testing and what formulae he was using, he’d been listening helplessly as certain mathematical terms grew entangled in Propeller’s thickly accented vocabulary, like flies in a spider’s web.

“Yeah? Variables like what?” he prompted, finally opening up his own case of spare parts. Now that he’d seen the full horror that was the flying machine’s current mechanical setup, he was doubly determined to repair it into the most airtight contraption devised.

Propeller stood with a flourish, gazing out thoughtfully towards the horizon. “Well, you see, the honorable King Pridemoor is formerly King Knight’s enemy! ‘Twas he that King overthrew to sit on the throne, and I am certain he did not like the sight of Pridemoor and his mother together at first! And perhaps he still doesn’t… But! Clearly, if he is attending this engagement gala, he has at least made up with his mother. I have heard tell of her kind and patient ways.” 

Tinker simply nodded along. Propeller plopped himself gracefully back onto the engine, lying resplendent on his side. Tinker averted his eyes from that particularly suggestive pose, but kept listening. “So, then, not only does he not want us to ruin the party, he wishes us to not make things unpleasant for his mother! You do know how some of the others can be…”

“Mhm…others…” It would be rude to say so, but Tinker couldn’t help but count Propeller and his reckless abandon among those others. 

“So? _Qu'est-ce que tu penses?_ Not bad detective work, no?” 

Tinker finally visibly looked up from his work, not just sneaking a glance this time. Propeller was leaning his masked face on his hand again, casting a propeller’d shadow over Tinker’s work station. He could hear another devilish smile in the other knight’s question. 

“Makes enough sense to me,” the inventor said, shrugging as he wrenched a new belt into place. “Don’t keep up much on King Knight’s affairs, though, so I couldn’t say for sure if you’re right…”

“Well, I’m quite relieved I brought the party to your attention!” exclaimed Propeller. “Not only do you still have time to prepare, but King Knight has less to worry about! We all know you’re quite responsible, after all.”

For a moment, Tinker felt a little relief himself that Propeller had yet to pick up on his other, less responsible attributes. “Well, you can consider his worries even less than that… I’m not going,” he stated flatly, appraising a few different shafts from his box. Unfortunately, his nonchalant delivery did nothing to mitigate Propeller’s scandalized reaction.

“Whatever do you mean, _mon petit ami_? Everyone will be there! No doubt, it will be the party of the year!” he gasped, grandly throwing out his arms as if to compare the apparent magnitude of the impending party to that of the open sky. 

Tinker hummed indifferently. “Not sure what I’m meant to make of that... If anything, sounds like even more reason not to go…”

“I do not know why I am so surprised…!” Propeller huffed, probably pouting under his helmet. “You stay up in that clockwork castle of yours all day, slaving over project after project… Of course you wouldn’t appreciate the grandness of an important social gathering. But surely you need some time out of the, ah, workshop, hmm?” he suggested. “I can say for certain your little excursions up to my flying machine have done you some real good.”

“Yeah? What’s your evidence for that, huh? I just come up here when you need something fixed…”

Propeller dismissed the deflection with a wave of his hand. “You have begun to do more than that! The first time you came aboard to do maintenance on my propeller, you were stoic as a rock! You had your little mutterings to yourself, but it was as if I wasn’t even there… Now, I know all about your inner workings! Your tower, your mechanized armor, your attempts toward artificial intelligence…” Tinker cringed a little at that. Had he really gone on about that much? 

“Not that I could summarize any of them particularly well, I’m no scientist myself, but the important thing is, you’ve advanced quite a bit out of your soldered steel shell!” Propeller exclaimed proudly, knocking a couple knuckles against the chassis of the engine. “And all it took was a few favors done outside the confines of that stack of gears and wheels you call a home.”

“I do,” Tinker couldn’t help but mutter, spinning the shaft in place to make sure it wasn’t set too tight. “It’s dim, gears make for good background noise, no one bothers me usually…”

“Ah, and I am a bother, is that it...?”

Tinker quickly backpedalled. “No, no, you’re, eh, you’re not bothersome, just a little distracting sometimes-” he trailed off as he found Propeller was laughing.

“I am only teasing, _mon ami!_ It takes quite a lot more than a little implication to dissuade me…” he reassured him jovially. “But, I’m right, am I not? Surely you don’t despise doing a bit of work for me every now and then…”

“Of course not.” Sparks reflected in Tinker’s mask as he welded in places he could mount gears. “It’s good to have something big to work on, now that the tower’s out of room for improvement.” Propeller nodded, as if Tinker’s response was hardly a surprise. 

“Well, then, perhaps you could fulfill a favor of another nature for me, hmm?” Propeller suggested. “It would be quite worth being in your debt if I managed to coax you out for tonight’s gala…”

“Why does it matter so much to you that I go, eh?” questioned Tinker. “Isn’t like I’ve got even half as much charisma as you do. Most likely I’d just stand out of the way until the blasted thing is over…” he mumbled as an afterthought, slotting several cogs into place.

“Ah, I appreciate the flattery, but I think you are pulling the wool over my eyes!” proclaimed Propeller, pointing a finger towards the shadowed slot of his own helmet. “I know there is more to you, Tinker Knight, more than you’ve revealed to me! You may be cautious, and serious, and so very professional, but there isn’t any way a man as accomplished as you is only those things! You’ve constructed a castle-sized machine, a massive mobile weapon, marvels that would amaze the entire world! Triumphs so grand, so utterly innovative, that you must have some spark inside you, that you never let anyone see.” 

Tinker had stopped working, distracted and confused by just how passionate Propeller was about this. At the last sentence, however, he simply waved his wrench dismissively and got back to adjusting the gears. “Well, of course, I’m no machine, I blow a gasket from time to time when things go wrong, or…someone’s _disrespectful_.”

“You know that isn’t what I mean!” insisted Propeller. “We’ve all seen your temper at its worst for one reason or another, I’ve seen it several times myself! But I think, if you had the chance, in a relaxed environment, to let loose a little…I’d catch a glimpse of a very different side of you! And I think you’d find the experience quite beneficial, as well.”

Tinker heaved a sigh as he put the last cog into the engine. “You aren’t going to drop this until I agree, is that right?”

Another laugh. “ _Oui_ , you know me well!” Propeller launched himself into the air, then backflipped onto the platform beside Tinker. “So tell me, have I whittled you down? I fear if I whittle any further, there won’t be much of you left!” 

Tinker Knight chose to ignore that little jab and consider the question. Propeller had perfectly played on Tinker’s impatience, and he was far past exhausted by their conversation. He still didn’t want to attend the party, of course, but if he knew Propeller, things would be far more insufferable if he didn’t go. He could already envision hearing a play-by-play of every little thing that happened at the party next time he came by to do repairs, complete with full-body acting and bad vocal impressions of half the Valley’s population. Not that he didn’t mind Propeller rambling from time to time, but with a monologue like that, he had a hard time imagining he wouldn’t end up fighting sleep. Which was never good when working…

“Hm. Enough that I will consider it,” he finally answered grudgingly, tightening the final bolt into place. Immediately he stiffened as he felt a gloved hand clap his back.

“Marvelous!” Propeller sang, standing up from the crouch he had briefly sunken into on his quest to effectively invade Tinker’s personal space. “I’ll be on the lookout for when you arrive! You may take a bit of time to notice, of course…” he mused. 

Tinker shook his wrench indignantly at the other knight. “Keep making quips like that, and I’ll change my mind!” He finally straightened up, a sharp crack sounding from his spine. “Engine’s done, by the way. That is to say, I got all the pieces into place. Could use a trial period or two, but I’ll leave that to you.” He hitched a thumb casually towards his handiwork. Propeller leaned over to have a look.

“Oh, _très magnifique!_ ” he declared, gesturing in the same direction as Tinker had with double the flair. " _Très bon travail, mon petit ami!_ ” 

By this point he’d praised Tinker’s work with exclamations of that sort several times, and a translation was no longer needed. “Good to hear. If nothing else, it’s a step up from the original, ehh…contraption.” Disaster, he almost said. “As usual, if it starts going haywire for whatever reason, send for me right away, got it?” There had been too many times Propeller had tried to get things back on track with his own crew, to headache-inducing results. 

“But of course! I would not dream of any other pair of hands toying with your design,” Propeller insisted, before putting his hands firmly on his hips. “So! Shall I take you back home then, little _monsieur_? You will need time to prepare for tonight…”

Tinker couldn’t imagine what preparing could possibly entail, but nodded at the other’s offer. “You know I’m not going to get used to this unless you get better at flying, right?” he asked, securing all his tools and extra parts in the box before stepping closer to Propeller.

“Hah! That is what you think. Flying is not all calculations and trajectories, you know!” Seeing that Tinker was ready, Propeller bent to wrap one arm around his torso and swoop him up against his eternally puffed-out chest. “Besides, you are hardly a chore to carry around, even with that toolbox!”

Tinker only half-listened, and prematurely gripped Propeller’s jacket tightly with his free hand. He’d long decided that feeling awkward about that kind of thing barely mattered when Propeller was cutting through the clouds like a superheated blade. 

=====

By the time they’d gotten back down to the clockwork tower, Tinker Knight had finally taken notice of the setting sun. He’d been fixing engines and rudders on the flying machine for more or less the entire day, and as with his long bouts of research and trials at the tower, he had quite effortlessly lost track of time. 

Propeller Knight landed gracefully on the balcony Tinker had explained put him closest to the workshop. In reality it was more like a rounded insulated platform protecting the gear system below it from weather and debris, but Propeller insisted time and time again that all it needed to “blossom into a balcony” was a tasteful railing along the curved precipice. 

“Here we are, then! Home sweet home,” Propeller announced, setting Tinker down once his propeller stopped spinning completely. It took the inventor a moment to recollect his bearings, still fairly dizzy from Propeller’s apparently necessary corkscrewing on their flight back. “And you still have…hmm, a few hours to spare!”

“Few hours…?” Tinker muttered. “Before what?”

“Before the party, silly! Did my fabulous flight scatter those smart brains of yours that much?” Propeller laughed. 

Tinker bristled. “No! I’m simply…not used to having a scheduled engagement of that nature.”

“Ah, you wanted to forget about it, hm?” guessed Propeller, a bemused smirk undoubtedly shaping his question. “Well, worry not! I am here to keep you on track! You won’t have any trouble getting there, no?”

“No, I’ll just take my mobile gear…cuts the travel time in half,” Tinker explained shortly. He’d told Propeller about the mobile gear before. Maybe too much. He may or may not have accidentally recited every single part, circuit, principle, trial, and error that had gone into its construction. It was a wonder he hadn’t put Propeller to sleep.

“ _Très bon!_ ” Propeller said, getting his propeller going again. “I will see you there, then. _Au revoir, mon petit ami!_ ” 

Tinker watched him go until he was only a speck in the sky, lost in conflicted thought over whether he should actually follow through and attend or not. The choice seemed clear, of course: now that he’d actually implied he’d go, he’d never hear the end of it from Propeller if he dropped out at the last minute. 

Whatever, whatever, he grumbled in his head as he finally turned around to head inside. He’d heard Propeller ramble about far more frivolous things for far longer, that adventurous accent of his had no power over whether Tinker attended some stupid party or not. 

He didn’t even know what went into preparing for a party anyway, aside from showing up to the blasted thing… Didn’t he have to wear something fancy?


	2. Two Steps Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry for making you guys wait this long, this week ended up super busy and this chapter ended up longer than I expected. Nevertheless I hope you enjoy! Thanks so so much for for your support so far, it warms my heart to see others as excited about this as I am. ^^

“Halt, guest! There will be no weapons at the gala.”

Propeller Knight stopped mid-saunter and appraised the guardsman at the gate. “Ah, you are referring to this?” he asked after a moment, smoothly gesturing towards the rapier at his hip. “It is not merely a weapon, you know. Personally I would describe it as a multi-functional accessory! An extension of my arm, even!”

The guardsman raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look very attached to your arm. It’s pointy and lethal. Hand it over, sir knight.” He stiffly offered his hand.

“Oh, but I am not just any knight, you know! I am none other than-”

“Propeller Knight? I know. Don’t think anyone else in the valley would walk up here in such a crazy helmet… Gonna need that to come off too, by the way.”

“My helmet?!” cried Propeller, scandalized. “Surely you don’t mean to say I must enter with my countenance uncovered, my charming mystique tarnished!”

A ragged sigh escaped the guardsman as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s just the propeller you’ve gotta take off. The future prince doesn’t want anything in there that could… make things dicey, understand?”

Propeller huffed in irritation. “Well! That is all you had to say, _garçon_ …though I am loath to part with my precious propeller,” he added in a haughty murmur, detaching the four-bladed rotor from his helmet. Perhaps Tinker hadn’t been barking up the wrong tree when he said making the thing detachable would come in handy.

“What, you can’t stand just being ‘Knight’ for a few hours?” the guardsman returned, cracking up at his own joke. Propeller handed off his rapier and propeller wordlessly as he passed through the gates, unamused. If these were the sorts of draconian restrictions King Knight felt compelled to put in place for the sake of an uneventful evening, demonstrating a responsible disposition was beginning to climb up the ranks of Propeller Knight’s priority list.

Said metaphorical priority list went up in metaphorical flames the moment Propeller Knight set foot in the grand hall of the castle.

The hall itself was grand, certainly. Since King Knight’s ill-gotten reign had ended, the walls had been scrubbed free (alchemically, if Propeller recalled) of their blinding golden sheen, leaving an equally royal aesthetic that was much easier on the eyes. This was less interesting to Propeller, however, than the current scene of the party itself. Having arrived fashionably late as usual, the hall was already packed with guests, an expected result from an invitation that went out to the entire kingdom. There were several long banquet tables lining the walls, stuffed until not an empty spot on the table remained with fruits, meats, and desserts. Massive wooden kegs bookended the tables, and judging by the raucous disposition of the guests, they were full (or more likely half-full) of very strong alcohol. Barring the infuriating confiscation of his accoutrements at the gate, Propeller Knight was already feeling very much in his element.   
An element that did not exactly breed responsibility, or anything like it.

“Hey there, ‘Knight’!” The near inaudibility of the interjection left Propeller unsurprised at seeing Treasure Knight’s glass-faced diving helmet when he turned to make a response. 

“Gate patrol got to you too, I see,” he remarked, no doubt focused on Propeller’s tragically propeller-less helmet. 

“Ah, hardly!” Propeller sniped back in response, ignoring Treasure’s delivery of the same mediocre joke as he descended the stairs to the party floor. “Propeller or not, my charm shines through in my dashing attitude, not to mention my sharp choice of dress!”

Treasure appraised Propeller’s gold-trimmed green tailcoat as he followed, helmet gradually tilting down to examine the swirling embroidered details in the other’s puffed trousers, and the impeccable stitchwork in his red knee-height heeled boots. “Hmm, it does have a telltale lavish quality to it,” he said, a careful consideration in his tone of voice. “Say, how much did that all cost, to get designed and fitted and such?”

Propeller Knight knew that tone well, even if it was a little difficult to discern through that dreadful sealed helmet. “Now, my dear Treasure, you are no longer responsible for my finances, you know? Nor for handling my gold,” he added meaningfully, casting the other an unseen smirk. “Besides, taking your own formal wear into account, I would hardly say you are strapped for cash!”

A few muffled stammers escaped Treasure Knight as he looked down to his own outfit, a studded copper-toned affair with a double-breasted coat and steel-toed boots. Treasure certainly wasn’t the type to flaunt his wealth, but Propeller would be lying if he said he hadn’t at least half-expected the avaricious sea-dweller to just wear his usual diving suit. Speaking of those destitute of complex fashion sense…

“Have you seen Tinker Knight around, _monsieur?_ ” Propeller asked Treasure, scanning the crowded hall to no avail. “I imagine he would have shown up perfectly on time…”

“Tinker? You mean he said he’d come to a _party?_ ” Treasure sounded rightfully incredulous. “Haven’t seen him… Don’t think I’d believe it if I did! The man’s been such a stiff poindexter lately, after all.”

“Hah! You underestimate my persuasive pizazz!” said Propeller, starting to leave Treasure behind in favor of a very enticing crowd of potential admirers. Some more than potential, he recognized a few as past visitors to his dearly beloved flying machine. “Even if he does not leave very much fanfare in his wake, I am certain he’s residing around here somewhere, in his stoic way!”

Treasure awkwardly waved Propeller farewell as the latter began to alert the crowd to his presence, and Propeller just now noticed that the heavyset bounty hunter was without his grappling anchor. Propeller nearly kicked himself for not noticing before, it was Treasure’s primary weapon, after all. Though it appeared he hadn’t expected to be relieved of what passed for his left hand either, as there had been no less-threatening prosthetic put in its place. The notion would have amused Propeller Knight immensely, if his attention was not immediately wrenched away towards many adoring townspeople that had begun to eagerly approach him.

“Propeller Knight! I knew you wouldn’t miss the event of the season!” exclaimed a round-faced woman in a wide skirt, clasping her hands together in excitement.

“The _year,_ even! And so fashionably late, too!” a lady horse added, a hoof placed above her brow as if to swoon. 

“Fashionable is right! That gold trim is to die for…” remarked a gentleman clad in turquoise, tracing the cut of Propeller’s jacket in the air before him.

The praise was expected, and yet it was still music to Propeller’s ears. Puffing his chest out further he struck a pose, sticking one hand on his hip and the other out in front of him, as if initiating a pantomimed duel. A chorus of charmed gasps and sighs sounded from all directions, and by now the crowd had left him ample space to walk and talk as they watched his swaggering act.

“Say, Propeller Knight, whatever happened to your heli-helmet?” questioned one lady knight, concern tinting her voice. 

Propeller scoffed as he began to gradually make his way over to the tables. “Those barbarians at the gate confiscated it! Evidently it is their opinion that without it I have no charm or wit to spare. A notion which they are rather mistaken in!” Nods and impassioned murmurs of agreement around him supported his statement. 

“But it really is outrageous,” he mused, taking a shining goblet and twisting the tap of the keg. “That _monsieur_ King Knight is deaf and blind to the idea of a truly enjoyable party! Requesting the removal of one’s most prized accoutrements, _c’est ridicule!_ ”

“You ridicule _me?!_ ” 

The crowd ceased their agreeing whispers and chuckles as King Knight pushed guests aside on a warpath towards the keg Propeller was nonchalantly leaning against, tipping up his helmet ever-so-slightly to drink the juice in his goblet. “Ah, our soon-to-be prince!” exclaimed Propeller, bearing an unseeable smirk. “How have you been responsibly enjoying the night, thus far?”

“Don’t you _dare_ refer to me in that manner, you saucy sky pirate!” growled King Knight, jabbing a finger at Propeller’s chest. “Especially not when you are so blatantly disobeying my strict decree!”

Propeller raised an eyebrow under his helmet, pushing himself up off the keg. “I have doffed my blades, relinquished my rapier! Would you have me put aside my rapier _wit,_ as well?”

“If it meant you would stop turning my rightful subjects against me, I would order it on the spot if it were possible!” said King furiously, gesturing in a sweeping motion at the staring crowd. “Not five minutes after your arrival, and I hear them kvetching, conniving, about how the gala has only _now_ just begun, how very regal you appear in that tacky, tawdry tailcoat of yours! It’s only a matter of time before the room dissolves into chaos, now that you and your...devious wiles have infiltrated the masses!”

Propeller laughed contemptuously. “ _Oh là là_ , shall you go and tattle on me to your mother, as well? I shudder to think of it! But she is sure to notice that I am not the one losing his temper in front of an audience,” he pointed out, mocking King’s sweeping gesture toward the guests watching their dispute, many of whom were snickering at Propeller’s retort. “I can do no more work to discredit your future majesty than you have already done for yourself!”

By this point King was fuming so much that Propeller would not be surprised to find his gilded helmet hot to the touch. “Bite your silver tongue,” he hissed, fists shaking irately. “You’re lucky I’ve followed my own mandate and forsaken my scepter for the night, or I would see fit to challenge you to a duel!”

“Who is to say a duel can’t be had without weapons?” smirked Propeller, crossing his arms confidently. “Just because I fight at arm’s length from the air does not mean I am unskilled in fisticuffs!” He widened his stance slightly and advanced in closer to King, who refused to budge.

“Then you can meet your thin, prissy hands with the unbridled force of my shoulder!” King declared, whipping his lavishly stitched cape behind him as the crowd receded in anticipation for a fight. “I shall encounter no trouble in checking you right out the castle doors!”

“I thought you didn’t want your party to turn out that way,” came a firm, yet agreeable voice from beside them that Propeller recognized immediately.

“Ah, I knew you would show sooner or later!” he exclaimed with a grin, looking down to his left to meet the thin, tinted slot of Tinker Knight’s welding mask. Based on the other’s stiff, cross-armed stance, however, it was clear Tinker did not share Propeller’s excitement at the moment.

“Just back away from each other,” urged Tinker, raising his hands to King’s chest and Propeller’s knee in order to push them at least a little ways apart. Propeller certainly understood the gesture, it wasn’t like Tinker could reach much higher than his belt, but the act still gave him a moment of pause. 

“I don’t get why you would go looking for a fight after going through so much trouble to make sure no one’s armed,” Tinker remarked, looking towards King Knight incredulously. 

King huffed and swept his cape back around his shoulders. “That high-flying hooligan started it!”

Tinker’s mask turned to face Propeller once again, then went back to King. “Doesn’t mean a fight is the way to finish it,” he retorted. “I’d think a future ruler would have enough wisdom under his belt to know that.”

“Big words for a small man,” King scoffed, and Propeller took note of how he was taking extra care to stand as tall as possible. “How could you possibly defend them, without those little toys of yours by your side?”

“I’d guess I couldn’t,” Tinker answered shortly. “But I don’t think I’ll try. This is a celebration for your mother, isn’t it? Doesn’t seem like the right place and time to make enemies.”

For the next moment King seemed at a loss for words, though knowing him he was probably considering a better retort rather than rethinking his actions. Before he could, however, he grew distracted by an increasingly offensive burnt smell wafting through the air. Confused, he turned towards its source and immediately let loose an indignant yelp.

“Mole Knight, you egregious excavator! How dare you leave that…that cranial flame burning around clearly flammable banners!” he cried, rushing off to resolve the crisis.  
Now that his spat with Propeller Knight seemed to be over, their audience gradually dissolved, back to talking amongst themselves and enjoying the food and drink.

“So, _mon ami!_ ” said Propeller, turning his full attention to Tinker Knight as he leaned his weight on the tabletop. “I did say your responsible attitude would turn out to be of great value.”

“Don’t give me that, you were stirring the pot just as much as he was,” grumbled Tinker, leaning against the table as well with his welding mask turned firmly towards the gleaming floor. Now that King had left well enough alone (at least for the time being), Propeller finally took a moment to examine the inventor’s appearance. His mask had notably been scrubbed of a decent amount of the rust that tended to cling to it, and based on the lack of a metallic, greasy miasma Propeller could deduce that he had at least cared enough to change his clothes. Aside from that…

“Ah, you removed your apron!” observed Propeller aloud, choosing to compliment the thing that sounded the least like a veiled insult. “If it were not for that mask and those gloves, you might appear almost semi-formal!” 

Tinker turned to face him with what Propeller couldn’t imagine to be anything less than a baffled scowl. Well, he tried. “When do you think was the last time I had the need to keep something fancy in my wardrobe?” he asked quizzically, sounding a little less offended than Propeller had expected. 

“Oh, come now, it is hardly a lost cause! All that is needed to bring the look to fruition is a bright tie! You always dress in such, ah...homely colors, you know,” Propeller said, narrowly avoiding more fitting terms like “bland” and “dull.” 

Tinker hoisted himself up a little to grab a goblet from the table, then shuffled over to the keg to fill it. “Well, no one gave me a ‘how to dress for a party’ manual, so I can’t imagine I’m that much to blame for failing so badly at it.”

Propeller chuckled. “ _C’est juste_. I imagine my next trick shall be to take you shopping, no?”

“Hm, gonna have to give me a good reason first,” he muttered, tilting his mask up slightly to drink. “If all parties are as badly micromanaged as this one, I can’t say I’ll ever be dragged into going to another.”

Propeller reflexively looked away. He’d agree without pause that he wasn’t the most reverent of knights, but for those such as he and Tinker, a man’s face was his most closely guarded secret. That didn’t mean he couldn’t still keep up their conversation, of course. 

“Come now, _mon petit ami_ , surely you have found a friend or two amongst the guests?” he asked, turning back as soon as he heard the other’s welding mask clank into place again. “I know I have found several!”

“Mm, that’s no surprise,” said Tinker, looking around the hall at the guests. “Can’t say I’ve found anyone. No one new, at least.”

As if to clarify that statement before Propeller could ask, a very familiar short figure in a very distinct beaked mask caught sight of them from the floor and came jogging over, followed by an only slightly less familiar green-toned lady around twice his height.

“Tinker, Tinker! So here’s where you’ve gone, hee hee!” Plague Knight remarked in his usual odd, screechy voice as he reached the table. “Did you manage to break up that silly little spat you just, hee hee, couldn’t seem to ignore?”

“More or less,” answered Tinker, looking away to take another surreptitious sip from his juice. “If it wasn’t for Mole I’m sure we would still be talking now.”

As was his wont, Plague Knight wasn’t holding a goblet, but an oddly shaped glass bottle, fitted with a swirly-shaped straw to ensure that he never had any need to remove what was less of a mask and more of a second face. He slipped the straw through a small hole in his beak, and took a long drink of whatever mysterious elixir it held. “I’m still not quite sure why you saw fit to break them up, hee hee! And right when it was getting interesting…” he remarked.

“I’ll say,” agreed Mona, who Propeller vaguely remembered from a few one-sided exchanges in the past. “With King going around stomping anyone daring to have any fun, that silly argument was the most interesting thing that’s happened all night.”

“And I’m afraid it won’t be surpassed by anything grander, hee hee!” Plague lamented, a sentiment offset by his habitual giggle. “Since those fools at the gate took away my bomb supply… That gilded loon, he ordered an extra-meticulous search for me in particular!” 

“Yeah, fair assumption,” Mona said, crossing her arms. “But, I was thinking of something we could do to spice up the night a little,” she added, casting her partner a look fraught with only barely veiled mischievousness. “Any party’s bound to be boring when you’re only confined to one room…”

An intrigued crow bubbled out of Plague, sounding half-stuck in his throat. “Hee hee, I like the way you think! Surely his majesty, hee hee, wouldn’t mind if we amused ourselves elsewhere on the premises!”

“Eh? Don’t tell me you’re about to run off and blow something up,” Tinker said, putting his goblet on the table. “Why did you even come after reading King’s letter?” Propeller resisted pointing out that Tinker apparently hadn’t even been aware of the letter’s existence until several hours ago.

“I came for the free food,” said Mona flatly. “Plague was worried I’d get swept off my feet by some casanova-”

“What! No I wasn’t!”

“So that’s why he’s here,” she continued, nudging Plague’s shoulder teasingly. “But, y’know, you can only eat so much, and this party...kinda sucks.”

“Hee hee, yes, it is a celebration, after all!” added Plague, recovering from the flustered stance he had adopted following Mona’s explanation. “It would be, hee, a crying shame if it went on without any fireworks!”

Tinker sighed and stopped leaning against the table. “Well, if you guys are going to be wreaking havoc, someone’s got to be there to fix it...or at least make sure the damage isn’t too bad.”

“What? You can’t just leave, the night has only just begun!” Propeller cried, gesturing around the hall. “There are so many friends I must introduce to you...I am certain they will like to get to know you, most of the village knows of your work for the children-”

“Or, hee hee, you could come watch us blow something up!” Plague interjected, leaning on Tinker as he sipped from his strange flask again. “You could even help! You’re, hee, ever so skilled in constructing the most incontestable launching devices.”

“You don’t need to try and butter me up, I was already coming,” said Tinker, pushing Plague’s arm off his head. The alchemist giggled once again and clapped his hands with glee. 

“Great, let’s go then,” Mona said, and the three of them started walking off.

“Wait, Tinker, you cannot just… What about our agreement?” Propeller insisted, frantically following Tinker as he shuffled ahead. 

“Not sure what you mean,” answered Tinker. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but it seems like you’re having a fine time at this party without me around.”

“Well…yes, but…that is every party I go to!” returned Propeller. “We always have such interesting conversations, _toi et moi_ , and though you do not believe it, you have the optimum capacity to carry those conversations with others!” At that sentence Tinker’s shoulders seemed to tense slightly under their bolt-like plates. 

“Yes, but this isn’t a good party. You said that yourself, minutes ago,” Tinker pointed out. “You might still have friends to make up for it, but I can’t say I’m equipped to fix this particular misfire of an event.”

Propeller sighed, crossing his arms as his long strides kept pace with Tinker’s short ones. The inventor was smart, certainly, and very ambitious (perhaps more than he let on), but for a man with so small a frame he grew nigh-immovable when acting stubborn. Such a trait was something Propeller could admire and detest in equal amounts. The idea of leaving a party like this, even a subpar one, was hardly pleasant for Propeller to consider, but…

“Well! I cannot very well observe your more complex attributes if I allow you to escape my orbit!” said Propeller decisively, straightening up as he scrambled to regain his composure. “Therefore, I think I shall accompany you!”

“What?” Tinker turned his head a little, confusion puncturing his flat tone. “I thought you cared about this party. Admirers, entertainment and whatnot.”

“ _Ou-Oui, oui,_ but...you are not exactly heading home, are you?” As they reached the doorway out of the hall, Propeller resisted taking the stairs up to the next floor two by two. “It sounds as if you plan to aid in the making of mischief!”

“Plague is a friend of mine,” stated Tinker as he climbed the staircase, careful not to hit his shins. “And you know how he is. I just keep him out of too much trouble.”

“Ah, but for someone so very responsible, you seem to surround yourself with very irresponsible friends!” 

A quiet sigh. “That’s only partly by choice, you know.”

=======

“Hee hee, there you are! We were about to, hee, start things without you!”

Plague was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. Or, possibly more accurately, he had been waiting for Tinker. Propeller didn’t have to see his face to feel the confusion that briefly overtook his excitement as he noticed Tinker had brought a guest.

“Don’t worry, he’s with me,” Tinker muttered, apparently anticipating the confusion as well. “Likely won’t just stand and watch, but… well, consider him my responsibility.”

“Ah, I am honored!” laughed Propeller after Plague shrugged and skipped off down the hall. “You value your responsibilities quite highly!”

“Yes, and I have them ranked by priority,” said Tinker, following the alchemist with a steady gait. “And as you can probably guess, Plague and his explosive tendencies are a few rungs above you at the moment.”

“Is that a challenge, _mon ami?_ ” asked Propeller, leaning down closer to Tinker as he quirked an unseen eyebrow.

“No, it’s a request. To try and stay low-priority, if you can.”

“Hee hee, Mona!” Plague called, waving to his partner as they approached. “The slowpokes have arrived!”

“Jeez, they were so slow I figured out how to bust the lock alchemically,” Mona remarked, standing from when she’d been kneeling in front of a heavy-looking door. “We were gonna make you jimmy the mechanism, Tinker, but, uh…” She hitched a thumb at what was now an acidic hole at the side of the door, presumably where a lock and knob had once resided.

“Just as well, hee! He probably wouldn’t have gone for it, that stick in the mud,” mused Plague, heaving the door open with Mona’s help. 

“I’m right here, you know,” asserted Tinker, tapping his foot.

“Yes, and you’re smart enough to know we’re right!” giggled Plague as they entered. Soon after he began scanning the room they’d just broken into. “Hee hee, goodness, no wonder this room was behind such a troublesome door!”

The room was round and the ceiling high and pointed, indicating that they were up in one of the towers. For a dark room it was surprisingly well-lit, by moonlight that streamed through wide glass windows in the walls and ceiling. If it weren’t for the tables piled with ancient tomes and esoteric maps, and the blueprints plastered on the walls, one might confuse it for a conservatory of some kind. 

“Aha! Here’s the black powder King wanted from me some weeks ago,” remarked Plague, bounding over to a small, half-full green sachet on the table across the room. “I did wonder why he was, hee, so secretive about what he needed it for…”

“Whatever it’s for, I won’t let you use it while we’re here,” Tinker reminded him, though he seemed reluctantly interested in some of the room’s contents, most notably a large metal frame propped on a stand in the corner. This came as no surprise to Propeller, as the object appeared to be an attempt at some sort of electronic mechanism. In fact, based on the more derisive things Propeller had caught Tinker muttering to himself whilst maintaining the flying machine, he was almost certain the inventor was getting increasingly irate under his mask. The workmanship on the strange apparatus wasn’t nearly as tight as Tinker’s tended to be, with loose screws and patchwork plate placement abound. 

“Heh, don’t think I’ve ever seen you so quiet,” Mona observed, sliding in beside Propeller. “Little out of your element?”

“Ah? Well, yes, I suppose I am,” Propeller chuckled. “I am not usually one to leave a party for something like this.”

“Why’d you leave, then? Didn’t think you and Tinker were especially close-”

“We’re not,” Tinker cut in, not facing them but apparently listening. “I just do work on his airship sometimes.”

“Just like him, to act so aloof!” laughed Propeller. “He’s come by nearly every week, lately! Such a love affair he has, with my flying machine.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that,” Tinker muttered, examining the inner workings of the large apparatus before him. “The thing’s a mess of wires and outdated steam engines. It’s a miracle she flies at all.”

“And now that you have begun adding your own touches to it, it is a much easier miracle to believe!” said Propeller, casually making his way closer to Tinker. It was always a funny thing, how easily he got invested in figuring out how things ticked. 

“I believe it,” Mona said, leaning against the wall as she watched Plague pore over the plans on the tables and walls, tapping his beak thoughtfully every so often as he traced over archaic diagrams with thin fingers. “I’m not too bad with machines, but that tower of his still makes my head spin.”

“Ah, mine as well, quite literally!” replied Propeller, chuckling at his own joke before turning his attention back to Tinker. “Now, then, what exactly is this...thing meant to be? I’ve never seen anything like it before, not that I can remember.”

“That’s what I’m trying to discern at the moment,” said Tinker, and Propeller could hear him slipping into the state of mind he tended towards when explaining complex mechanical principles and projects of his. “It has a variety of oddities present. Its source of power appears undecided, split primarily between a steam engine and a four-stroke combustion engine. An open-close circuit, even of this magnitude, only requires a singular method of output acceleration.” He pointed a gloved finger at a couple complicated looking box-shaped things. “Personally I would have extrapolated upon the force of the steam engine, combustion is more efficient but it is far better suited to endeavors specific to locomotion.”

“Chatter, chatter, hee hee!” Plague Knight interjected from the other side of the room. “It’s a wonder you get anything done when you make things so very complicated!”

“As if you don’t talk over stuff just as much with me when we’re working on something,” returned Mona with a smirk. 

“So, then, with the steam engine, what would you say this machine might do?” prompted Propeller, bending over until he was much closer to Tinker’s eye level. He still felt quite lost in the inventor’s sea of words, but he had heard terms like “acceleration” and “locomotion” enough by now to stay at least partially afloat with what Tinker was attempting to explain.

“Well, with the removal of one energy component, the mechanism grows more simplified to iterate,” Tinker continued, pulling his wrench from within one of his deep gloves and disconnecting one of the engines.

Propeller couldn’t help but gasp. “You snuck a weapon into the gala?”

“Yes,” Tinker answered, placing the engine on the workbench. “It’s a multipurpose tool.”

“I...certainly, I suppose, but-” Propeller straightened up slightly and cleared his throat, regaining his composure before bending back down. “That wasn’t exactly a very responsible thing to do, you know!”

“Neither was taking everyone’s weapons and putting them in one place,” returned Tinker, tightening some of the bolts on the metal plates. “If someone were to raid the castle now, there’d be eight fewer guests armed and ready to defend against it.”

“Hmm, I did think of that,” Propeller remarked, partially to himself. “I should have used it against the guards at the gate!”

“I already had,” said Tinker, rerouting wires and tapping a glass canister half-filled with an unknown liquid. “I snapped a little at them, which might have aided in sneaking the wrench in. After the hard time I gave them, they were satisfied with just getting my mobile gear.”

It seemed he wasn’t fully aware he had begun to work in earnest on improving the apparatus, even though its purpose was still unknown, and its towering appearance rather intimidating. Propeller didn’t feel inclined to stop him, however. It wasn’t like Tinker to attack a situation so intuitively. Even when he grew distracted by different components of the flying machine he had yet to alter, he always assessed the “damage” very thoroughly before beginning maintenance. 

“You can’t have taken your finest model of the gear, of course?” asked Propeller, determined to keep Tinker at his current equilibrium. “You must have somehow anticipated King Knight’s dreadful mandate.”

“Well, I never take the latest model anywhere, unless I have multiple iterations,” answered Tinker, shuffling around several gears. “I’ve had it stolen before, several times, in fact.” Propeller stifled a laugh. Of course! Tinker would never make just one of anything. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, _mon ami_ , what have you done there?” Propeller pointed to the gears Tinker had just shuffled. The inventor’s hand moved as if to push Propeller’s aside, but instead hung awkwardly in the air a moment before simply waving the offending hand away. 

“The way gears and cogs are arranged crucially impacts the machine’s efficiency of function,” explained Tinker, rearranging others as he spoke. “In fact, I would hypothesize that to be this particular mechanism’s most notable shortcoming. The engineer appears to only possess a surface knowledge of the form and function of cog networks. With several sub-sectors given a more judicious arrangement…” He stepped back, looking over the entire system he’d just tightened up before Propeller’s eyes. “Well, it should work better than before, at least,” he concluded shortly. 

“Ah, bravo, _monsieur!_ ” exclaimed Propeller, clapping his hands with excitement. “You seemed to quite enjoy yourself with all that!”

“Well, I… Hm.” Tinker’s welding mask turned down to the floor as he seemed to only now mull over what he’d been doing for the past several minutes. “I only hope such an odd device has good intentions behind it.”

“C’mon! You’re gonna go through all that trouble to fix it and _not_ flip it on to see what it does?” asked Mona, leaning her face on her hand. “Or at least tell us what it’s supposed to do?”

“I’m still not sure what it’s meant to do,” Tinker admitted, daring to look back at his handiwork. “I only followed what was there…improvised a little, and…” His sentence progressively trailed off. 

“Come, it is a part of science, is it not? Investigating the unknown?” encouraged Propeller. 

“Maybe in Plague’s line of work, but-“

“Hee hee, don’t even finish that!” Plague cut in. “You do just as much experimenting as I do! Or, well, used to, hee…”

“Used to,” Tinker repeated flatly, almost to himself. He looked the machine over a moment more, then stepped in closer once again. “They didn’t put a switch. I just have to close the system.”

Propeller and the others watched eagerly as the inventor took one final gear and wrenched it into place among the others. Almost instantly the strange oval device came to life with a low hum, and four coils on the inside of it sparked and combined to form a small purplish nexus at the hollow center of the ring-like shape of the machine. It grew slowly at first, but then began to compress into a smaller, brighter singularity.

“Hm,” muttered Tinker, leaning in close to examine it. “Looks like it’s meant to meld a mass of-”

Propeller Knight did not get to hear the end of Tinker’s sentence, as it was rather abruptly cut off by an absolutely deafening explosion from the apparatus. The resulting flash of light was blinding, and Propeller shielded the slot of his helmet just as the floor shook enough to nearly knock him off his feet. It was lucky that he had decent balance, as the next sound to assault his eardrums was every glass window in the room shattering to pieces. 

By the time the smoke had cleared enough to see the damage, Propeller was already searching what remained of the room for Tinker Knight. He had been standing inches from the apparatus when it went off, and even with his mask and armor on he wasn’t very heavy. Propeller was willfully ignoring the possibility that his friend had been jettisoned from the tower altogether before he nearly tripped over him.

“Tinker!” Propeller dropped to his knees, hardly considering the scores of glass shards littering the floor under him. “ _S’il vous plaît_ , answer me…”

Tinker lay face-down on the cracked stones, and Propeller carefully lifted and turned him over. He didn’t seem to be too badly injured, though the fall and broken glass had clearly done a number on his arms and torso. Leaning in closer thankfully revealed steady breathing. Which quickly grew unsteady as Tinker regained consciousness.

“Propeller? Why...why are you so...close to me,” mumbled Tinker, sitting up and wincing audibly. 

“Wow-weeeee, hee hee!” Plague Knight exclaimed as he popped up from behind an overturned table. “That was a good one! I knew you had it in you, Tinker! You – hee – you leveled the whole room!”

“What?” Tinker asked in confusion, before taking a better look around. Indeed, the tower had been rendered a scorched open platform, with only one sorry section of wall remaining. The tables, blueprints, books, and machinery were unrecognizable, and perhaps most egregiously it appeared the machine had not yet fully run its course. For if one were to turn their attention from the room itself to the night sky, as Tinker and Propeller did just then, they would see a bright, purplish comet soaring off into the valley, leaving a long, shining trail behind it.

Having taken this all in, Tinker stood up, wobbling slightly on his feet. Propeller offered a hand for balance but Tinker pushed it away.

“I think it’s time I went home,” he muttered flatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hark, we have a plot! I hope you all enjoyed this week's chapter. Hopefully the next one will be out sooner! Again, your kudos and comments are exponentially cherished, the few I've already got put me in an excellent mood to keep on trucking. Hope you have a lovely day, and I'll see you for the next chapter!


	3. Damage Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, again!
> 
> Like last time, I expected to have this one done sooner, but unfortunately the final two weeks of fall term are kicking my butt and thus I appear just a tad late. In any case, here's chapter 3! Hope you all enjoy it, as the first in a pair of individual(ish) introspections.

As usual, a deafening ring roused Tinker Knight from his slumber. He’d lived on a tight schedule for many years now, and thus a sufficiently fail-proof alarm system was rigged to awaken him at sunrise every morning, no exceptions.  
This was one of those mornings where he wished there were exceptions.

His head felt stuffed full of cotton, and for some minutes he simply lay in bed trying to recall what had happened the night before. The fact that he was still in his work clothes was a clue, certainly, though his gloves and boots had been removed. 

Tinker finally forced himself to sit upright, and upon seeing numerous small bandages on his arms, the events of the party, the strange device, and the explosion all began to resurface in his mind. He’d been thrown across the room and onto the floor, and Propeller had sounded so worried…and everything after that was still a blur. There was no way he’d been conscious enough to get back to the tower on his own, so Propeller must have flown him over. How embarrassing.

At that moment Tinker’s gaze fell upon the gloves and welding mask sitting atop his copper-colored bedside table. His boots sat on the floor beside it as well, neatly arranged next to each other. Tinker’s cogslotters were reliable and uniformly supportive, but they’d never once dared to put him to bed, when he ended up passed out over his workbench or anything like that. He’d specifically forbidden it early on in the construction of the tower, as such patronization infuriated him to no end. With that already in mind, there was only one alternative, and Tinker would not even let himself consider it. 

A half-hour of changing clothes and bandages later, Tinker was out of his room and rolling through the tower’s corridors on his mobile gear, clipboard in hand. Just because they weren’t building anything new didn’t mean there wasn’t an exhaustive list of maintenance chores to check up on. He could worry about how he was going to handle the aftermath of the night before afterwards. 

Pressure in the boiler room stabilized, check.

Pistons oiled and extending/retracting in time, check.

Toy assembly at optimum efficiency, check. 

Torque lift equilibrium secured, check.

Automated conveya-

“Hey, boss! Don’t mean to bother you, but you’ve got mail!”

Tinker took a very deep breath before turning to face the cogslotter who had interrupted his train of thought. He recognized this one’s voice, they always came straight to him whenever anything required his consideration, and though that attitude was appreciated half the time, there were plenty of instances where it was positively irritating. Like this one, for example. 

“Just give it here. I’ll read through it in my own time,” he ordered. The cogslotter nodded and offered up a short stack of envelopes, which Tinker nabbed with a clipped efficiency. 

“Of course, boss. Anything on the docket today besides the usual chores?”

“No,” Tinker answered shortly. “Just put more hands on rust duty, I heard loud creaks on the third floor.”

“Right away.”

“Good. Thank you for the mail.” Tinker turned his back again. 

“Anytime, boss!”

At first Tinker simply began slotting the letters underneath the stack of papers on his clipboard, but after a cursory glance at their senders he pulled over to the side of the hall to read through each. A green envelope with gold details and flowery script proclaimed to be from Propeller Knight, so Tinker wasted no time tearing that one open first. Ensuring the mobile gear was off and stabilized, Tinker sat with his back against the brick wall and started reading. 

_Cher Tinker,_

_I thought I ought to write to you following last night’s events. I left before you awoke, as your crew insisted upon it, but I must confess I was quite concerned. I hope you do not mind too much that I took the liberty of bandaging your arms. I think you may be further injured on your torso, but I imagined removing your gloves may have already been too much a breach of privacy._

_In any case, I am relieved you are more or less alright, and would be delighted if you could come aboard the flying machine again sometime soon. It does not have to be under the pretense of maintenance, either. You have patiently endured far too many of my stories for our acquaintanceship to be purely professional!_

_Cordialement,_

_Propeller Knight_

The back of Tinker’s head clanked against the wall. His worst fear had been confirmed. He’d had to be brought home, and by Propeller of all people. Not only that, Propeller had removed his gloves, and presumably his boots, too. What about the mask? Gloves were indeed a breach of privacy already, but if boots weren’t off-limits... He hadn’t seen his face, had he?

Tinker sighed, slipping a hand under his mask to massage away the headache he was getting. What did it matter, what did it matter if Propeller saw anything. It wasn’t like there was much worth hiding. What a silly thing to get so worked up about. 

He folded Propeller’s letter and slipped it back into the envelope before storing it in one of his apron pockets. Maybe the next letter would get his head back on straight. Though based on the obscene amount of gold leaf covering the envelope, it probably wouldn’t do anything for his headache. 

_To Tinker Knight -_

_By decree of the illustrious King Knight, you are hereby BANNED from Pridemoor Keep until further notice! On account of your reckless fiddling with TOP SECRET ROYAL RESEARCH, APPALLING property damage to the castle grounds, and DISRESPECTFUL display of diplomacy in the face of a two-sided argument with a CLEAR AND RIGHTFUL VICTOR, I order you to remain out of my sight until your services are absolutely required!_

_Failure to comply with these regal terms will result in severe discipline! That eyesore of a tower you live in is on MY land, you know, I can order it demolished at any time…_

_Signed, his rightful and regal majesty,_

_King Knight_

By the end of the letter, Tinker’s shoulders were sagging under the weight of his armor, and he resisted tearing the letter in two right then and there. King’s threats were empty, of course, he had no power, and it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to tear down the clockwork tower. Still, with the stress of last night and Propeller’s letter still fresh in his mind, it was hard not to add “potential demolition of life’s work” to his list of woes. He crumpled up the shiny yellow paper and shoved it into another pocket in his apron. Personally, he didn’t think King’s letter had been worth rescuing from the incinerator.

The last one was in a simple brownish envelope, with creases in a few places as well as some water damage. The slightly smudged calligraphy ink on the front designated the letter as Specter Knight’s, which piqued Tinker’s curiosity. He never got ultimatums from him unless it was something urgent.

_Tinker Knight,_

_Your presence is required at the Lich Yard. Whatever magical comet thing you unleashed last night landed here. Bring your tools._

_Specter Knight_

So much for approaching the morning like any other. Tinker tracked down the cogslotter who had delivered his mail and pushed his half-empty checklist into their hands. 

“When do you think you’ll be back?” they asked, as Tinker rooted around for his tools. 

“With any luck, soon. Run today’s schedule as normal, and if all singular tasks are completed before schedule, take the rest of the day off,” he ordered, revving up the mobile gear. His employee nodded, and without further conversation he took off, toolbox in hand. 

As Tinker rolled past the tower entrance and onto the road proper, he cast a long glance over his shoulder towards where the flying machine was often parked, near the mountains a couple miles off. Part of him nagged at the fact that he was deliberately putting off responding to Propeller. The man was a friend of his, and at least deserved a thank-you for dealing with Tinker the night before. And yet, the thought turned Tinker’s stomach in the strangest way. It could be that he was still embarrassed, that Propeller had to see him in such a state, but what he was feeling now wasn’t entirely that. He knew embarrassment. It was a hard pit, a heavy compressed wound that festered and eventually gave way to rage or doubt. There was something stirring, certainly, but it was light, uncertain, a fluttery feeling that refused to allow Tinker to focus. 

The engineer’s reverie ended with a shock as he took notice of a small, shining spec, floating out just beside the flying machine in the distance. He didn’t have to use his imagination too much to guess who it might be, and sped off down the road just as he began to feel himself sweating behind his mask.

=======

Specter Knight didn’t seem to be waiting for Tinker when he arrived at the Lich Yard, but he didn’t see why he had to wait for him to show up. Surely he could at least begin investigating himself, it wasn’t like he needed a chaperone. 

A shallow trench scarring the grassy forest floor caught Tinker’s eye, and he curiously rolled over to get a closer look. It appeared that something had been thrown into the ground, and skidded to a stop somewhere off in the fir trees. Tinker looked closer. Perhaps not thrown…

“Fallen from the sky,” he muttered quietly to himself, slowly following the trench away from the outskirts of the village and into the forest. “Yes, the unidentified object must have landed back there, and come to a stop up ahead.” 

A shine in the soil gave him pause, and he stopped the gear to investigate. Digging a little through the dirt revealed a damaged mechanical component, twisted nearly beyond recognition. “A shaft, maybe,” muttered Tinker, turning it in his hand. “Can’t be an axle, it’s too small-”

Tinker’s musings were interrupted by the subtle clank, fabric shift, and footfall of someone appearing behind him. Surprised, he spun around, jumped back a little, and raised his wrench in preparation for some kind of altercation. Thankfully, it was only Specter Knight, and Tinker now wished he hadn’t let such a weak yelp of surprise escape him. 

“You didn’t wait for me,” Specter stated, almost matter-of-factly, leaning on his scythe.

“Oh, was I supposed to discern that I was meant to from your letter?” Tinker asked indignantly. “It had such thorough instructions, I’m sure you know-”

Specter hushed him. “Be quiet. It’s nearby.”

“Wh – What’s nearby?” demanded Tinker, nevertheless making an effort to lower his voice. “Your oh-so-helpful invitation didn’t explain that, either!”

“I don’t know, you’re the one who released it,” replied Specter, floating up slightly to scout over some of the shorter trees. “Heard about your parlor trick from the villagers. It’s some kind of magic construct, but I can’t destroy it. There’s some kind of mechanical component to it, too, so I’m certain you’ll think of a way to disable it.”

“Can’t disable it if I don’t know what it looks like,” Tinker pointed out, crossing his arms. Specter sighed. 

“Follow me. It probably won’t spot us.” He dashed off, light on his feet, and Tinker put away his gear before jogging after him as fast as he could manage. The gear would make it easier to keep pace, but if this thing was sensitive to sound, as Specter was implying, Tinker couldn’t count on the gear to not be too noisy. 

By the time he’d caught up with Specter, Tinker was out of breath and trying not to pant too heavily. The ghostly knight was crouched behind a thick bush, and Tinker had to straighten up as much as possible to look over at what he was gesturing towards. On the path before them, there was a stange, shambling homunculus, seemingly only held together by tenuous pinkish-purplish tendrils. The texture was akin to that of molten crystal, and would be a twisted sort of beautiful if it weren’t for the rest of the thing. Its “torso” appeared to be some kind of fragmented core mechanism, with a steam engine pumping away half-broken on its back. One of its arms bore within it a large, coiled spring attached to a dented metal plate twice the size of what passed for its head. It didn’t have any eyes to speak of, just a simple gear system sticking out of three sides of a roundish blob of the molten goo. It chugged away sluggishly, feeding off the power of the steam engine. Based on the state of several of the mechanical components, it was clear Specter had already taken several swings at it unsuccessfully.

“Doesn’t have good sight, but it can hear better than you’d think,” explained Specter. “I’ve been able to immobilize it, but not for long. The mechanisms don’t have any weak points I can slice through. Not surprising, if it’s still your handiwork...and that’s where you come in.” He gripped his scythe tighter. “I’m going to rush it and pin it down. As soon as I manage that, you come in with your tools and disable the core. Do you think you can deal with the arcane substance surrounding it?”

“My gloves protect from almost anything,” Tinker answered shortly. “If the stuff is too strong for them, I can use certain tools to push it aside at least temporarily.”

Specter nodded. “Good. Now, if you’re ready…” He stood up, brandishing his scythe and locking his sights onto the creature. “I’m going to get things started.”

Tinker gave a small nod, and Specter leapt up from the cover of the brush. The creature turned abruptly at the rustling of the leaves, and before it could react Specter dash-slashed through it, knocking it off-balance. 

He landed on the other side of the creature, and stuck the butt of his scythe in the ground. Using it as a lever, he jumped up, swung forth, and kicked the creature upside its head. It reeled back a moment, then stood upright again, raising its long arm. The spring activated, sending a large metal plate careening towards Specter. 

He jumped out of its path and tossed his scythe in a looping arc, just grazing the top of the bush Tinker was still hiding behind. It spun back around, and caught the creature in between the blade and the handle.

Specter was quick to pounce onto his weapon, effectively pinning the creature to the ground. Driving his heel into its spring-arm to ensure that didn’t go anywhere either, he finally looked back at Tinker Knight. “Okay, it’s down!”

Tinker rushed out with his toolbox, glad Specter had inadvertently given him a chance to catch his breath. He dropped to his knees on the ground beside the thing’s chest, and gingerly prodded the fleshy slime with a couple gloved fingers. Thankfully, it seemed his gloves were made of strong enough stuff for the slime not to seep through. With that confirmation, Tinker plunged both hands wrist-deep in the slime and pulled it apart until he had a clear view of the creature’s motor. It did look like the one he’d doctored up the previous night, and with the right wrench in hand he could easily begin methodically dismantling it. 

“Could you hurry this up? I cannot hold it for long,” Specter demanded through gritted teeth, as the thing attempted to wriggle out from beneath him. 

“An engine is a delicate piece of machinery, especially a steam engine,” Tinker explained haphazardly, having to juggle listening to Specter with carefully fiddling with various pressure gauges. “If I tweak the wrong valve or loosen the wrong bolts, it could combust and fall apart.”

“I thought this was your work,” Specter pointed out, his scythe starting to sink deeper into the thing’s slimy chassis. “You’re saying you don’t trust your own contraption not to explode?”

“That‘s not what I said,” insisted Tinker stiffly, leaning over into the engine as he loosened a particularly stubborn valve. “I am nothing if not focused when I work, and if I stay as such, we won’t have any problems.”

“Well, you’re going to have to focus a little faster -”

Just then, the pinkish substance split under the weight of Specter and his weapon and the resulting separated pieces scurried off into the trees as if they were each their own entity. As the semi-solid mass under Tinker suddenly dissipated, he was unable to stop himself from falling forward onto his face, and his welding mask collided with the dirt with a muffled thunk. 

As he pushed himself back upright, Specter pulled his scythe’s blade out of the ground irritably. “I told you you needed to work faster!” he griped. “I wasn’t aware your ability to focus was so ungodly sensitive…”

“I was focusing just fine,” retorted Tinker, brushing the soil off his apron. “If you hadn’t pushed so hard as to destabilize the construct…”

“Hm, don’t toss around words to try and accuse me.” Specter swung his scythe onto his shoulder. “If anything, we share the blame.”

Tinker sighed. “Fine, fine, fair enough.” He looked around at the forest surrounding them, trying to spot one of the smaller constructs they’d just accidentally created. At the moment none could be seen, but they could be heard moving through the leaves, wires crackling like short-circuiting electrodents. “At least they’ll be easier to destroy now. Let’s get this over with.” He closed up his toolbox and started off into the trees, brandishing his wrench.

“Hey, wait,” Specter called after him. Tinker turned back around, and froze.

“You dropped this,” said Specter, holding up a green and gold envelope. “Must have fallen out of your pocket when you fell over.” 

Tinker wasted no time in shuffling back over to snatch the envelope out of Specter’s hand before he could say anything else. “Thanks,” Tinker muttered shortly, shoving it back into his pocket as he turned back around to the task at hand. He’d have to keep a better eye on it.

“That’s Propeller’s stationery,” observed Specter, catching up to Tinker with little effort. “Didn’t realize you and him were close.”

“We are _not_ close,” Tinker denied, keeping his eyes fixed ahead of them. “I’m just his engineer, from time to time.”

“Hm. Then there’s no reason to get so bothered over one letter, is there?” Specter asked, a certain amusement sneaking into his tone of voice. “What would he even write in a letter to his ‘engineer?’”

“It’s none of your concern,” deflected Tinker aggrievedly. “Besides, how do _you_ know what Propeller’s stationery looks like? I can’t imagine any professional reason he’d be sending you letters,” he pointed out, gesturing accusingly with his wrench.

“Oh, there’s none, none at all,” Specter groaned, putting a hand on his hip. “He’s one of the only former Order members who still stays in contact with me, and it’s always just to ask how I’m faring. He writes far too much about whatever pointless adventuring he’s been up to, and I never see any reason to write more than I’m fine, and could he stop sending letters please.”

Tinker had to give that a good moment of thought. He did vaguely recall Propeller mentioning Specter once or twice, but the fact that they were trading letters (if not in an almost one-sided manner) was news to him. “Well,” he finally said. “Then there’s no reason for you to assume anything about his letter to me.”

A small amalgamation of slime and disconnected machinery shuffled into view about twenty feet ahead of them, and Specter threw out a small whirling blade that promptly obliterated it. “Maybe you’re right,” he conceded. “I know Propeller’s pitying me, sending me so many letters… He knows none of the other knights want anything to do with me, and thinks that if he pesters me enough, I’ll ‘come out of my shell,’ whatever he thinks that’s supposed to mean.” He noticed another one shambling by on Tinker’s left, and swung his scythe down behind the other’s back. “It may be the same for him and you. You have been retreating more and more into that tower lately.”

Two more showed themselves, rushing off into the undergrowth away from Tinker and Specter’s reach. Before they could make it, both knights tossed their weapons out and each struck one down. “But you have friends,” Specter continued, catching his scythe on its way back. “I hear about you and Plague Knight every so often, and even Mole Knight respects your work, if I recall. Even though you remain reserved, you’ve been known for your agreeable disposition.” By this point they were almost to the edge of the forest, and the roofs of the reddish houses in the village could be seen through the trees. 

“I don’t know… It just makes one think,” Specter concluded, turning to Tinker curiously. A rough squelch was audible from just beside Tinker, and he looked down to see one more small construct lazily approaching. 

“Well, you can stop thinking,” Tinker said, stomping on the thing until it was in pieces. “He was just asking about the accident last night. Wondering if I’d been hurt.” There was no way he’d tell Specter the full truth of that.

“Mm. That does sound like him. Always looking to assert himself where he’s not needed.” Specter Knight fell silent for some seconds, cocking his head to listen for any more strange noises in the forest. “Well, I think that’s all of them. I’ll do another sweep of the forest later, but now that the construct is more vulnerable, I shouldn’t need your help to disable it.”

Tinker nodded. “Sorry for the trouble. I have no excuse for it.”

Specter shrugged. “At least it was a quick cleanup. Plague’s little experiments have proven a far bigger headache. In any case, you’d best be off. I’m certain Propeller is dying to hear how you’re recovering,” he added, that irritating amusement coming back into his voice. 

Tinker scoffed as he deployed the mobile gear. “I’ll be sure to give him a full report the next time one of his turbines explodes.”

He chose to ignore Specter’s quiet, ragged chuckle as he dash-slashed off into the yard. There were more important things to be concerned with than what Specter thought of him and Propeller, and why in his hours and hours of rambling Propeller had delicately refrained from mentioning he traded letters with Specter.

But of course, that was all that occupied Tinker’s mind as he rolled out of the Lich Yard. It wasn’t like he had anything other than chores to look forward to back at the tower, and there was a reason Propeller’s letter was still in his pocket, even if he wasn’t entirely sure what that reason was.

He found himself caught up in these frivolous thoughts to such an extent, in fact, that the smooth grind of the gear beneath his feet was enough to drown out the wet clamoring of one more small, mechanized blob on its way out of the forest, and deeper into the valley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Just wanted to thank you all for your (extremely!!!) kind words on this fic, and for 50 hits! Even if I get too anxious to respond to things directly, know that I appreciate everything you have to say! See you guys next week-ish for the next chapter, where we'll see how Propeller's doing...


	4. Loose Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title isn't nearly the level of spicy that you think it is! with that said, this chapter is certainly not free of spice entirely... hope you all enjoy! (PS, definitely had way too much fun thinking up this chapter after playing through treasure’s showdown route haha)

“All systems go, _capitaine!_ Prepare to launch?”

Propeller Knight landed on the flying machine’s deck just beside his crewmember. “ _Oui, Oui,_ I will be at the helm shortly! Tell the crew to look alive and get to their stations!”

“Right away, sir!” The hoverhaft took off to fulfill Propeller’s request, leaving him alone once more. 

Before dashing off to the bridge to start up the ship, Propeller cast one last glance over his shoulder, at the clockwork tower in the near distance. It was a little difficult to convince himself that Tinker Knight was probably still asleep, now that he had plainly seen him leaving the tower on his mobile gear. He’d stopped on his way out, and for a moment Propeller had wondered if he ought to descend and say hello, but before he could decide for sure Tinker had sped off in the opposite direction. Apparently he had a previous engagement to attend to. Which was perfectly normal for a man of his specialty, of course! Propeller had an engagement of his own, anyhow. No time to waste worrying over how Tinker was faring after the previous night’s incident, especially when Propeller was well aware that the engineer was more sturdy than he appeared. 

“All hands on deck, at each of the control modules!” ordered Propeller as he sauntered onto the bridge. “We have no time to waste this morning.”

“Speed at 43 knots, sir!”

“Rudders zeroed and stabilized!”

“Propellers at 440 rotations!”

“Hoh, _parfait!_ ” exclaimed Propeller, taking his place behind the wheel. “Everything is in order, then. And the anchors?”

A final hoverhaft listened at a curved horn attached to the wall for a minute, then turned back to Propeller. “Anchors aweigh, _capitaine!_ We are go for liftoff!”

Propeller Knight nodded affirmatively, and smirked as he twisted the wheel around until his sight was locked onto the ocean that bordered the southern edge of the valley. 

“Our course is set for the Iron Whale,” he proclaimed, maintaining a determined grip on the helm with one hand as he rested the other daringly on his hip. “And if the weather remains fair, we shall arrive within the hour.”

=======

A negligible amount of time later, the gleaming reflection of the sun off the teal shell of the Iron Whale greeted Propeller Knight just off the shore below. Delighted, he snapped his fingers to summon a copilot. 

“Bring us down a fair distance above the hull! I shall descend to meet our avaricious companion,” he announced, turning on his heel the moment one of the nearby hoverhafts took the wheel from him. Propeller pranced out of the cockpit, one hand already decisively ready to steer his blades. As he breached the deck, he immediately took to the sky, driving one knee forth towards the edge of the ship. Once the polished wood floor was no longer beneath him, Propeller had a good view of the submarine half in the shadow of his flying machine. And, if he squinted enough, he could make out a brownish speck atop the hull, no doubt admiring the prowess of Propeller’s flying machine. Of course, knowing Treasure Knight, it was equally likely he was once again attempting to appraise the ship’s monetary value. If he happened to ask, Propeller had the same answer as always waiting in the wings: whatever he was estimating, it was far too low.

Propeller Knight shut off his blades and let himself fall for several seconds, shoes pointed and legs held out together like a dainty human torpedo. As always, Propeller couldn’t resist throwing in a pirouette or two before sending his rotors turning once more and throwing out his legs beneath him dramatically. One slightly dizzy barrel roll later, he finally touched down determinedly with his feet in a sturdy, wide-set stance, mere feet away from an already impatient-looking Treasure Knight.

Seeing the bounty hunter’s crossed arms and tapping foot, Propeller smirked as he shut off his blades and shifted into a confident pose. “ _Bonjour, capitaine,_ did you not enjoy the show?” he prompted smugly.

“To be perfectly honest, I could have done without it,” Treasure replied, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet as usual. “Time is money, you know.”

Propeller waved his hand dismissively. “ _Oui, oui,_ you always say that, everything is money to you, no? But, consider!” He pointed sagely with both hands. “While we may not possess all the money the world has to offer, the time required to find it is ours to use as we please!”

“Yes, and it seems you prefer to use it to do frivolous acrobatics,” returned Treasure, adjusting his grappling anchor fastidiously. “I don’t often have any reason to mind it much, but at the moment your time is my time, and I’d rather use it to get to the point faster.”

“Mon dieu,” Propeller pouted melodramatically, turning his blades back on just so he could effectively pantomime a scandalized fainting motion. “If I did not know any better, I would think you have no love for the adventure of hunting for treasure!”

“Well, you do know better,” Treasure pointed out. “If I didn’t care to get my hands dirty, I wouldn’t be going on such a quest to take what’s mine.”

“And mine!” Propeller reminded him, leaning flippantly on his shoulder.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he muttered, shrugging him off. “Now, do you want the details on this bounty, or not?”

“Of course I do! Tell me everything,” Propeller implored. “It will be quite a help to know what we are up against…” He trailed off as he noticed what he was saying. Tinker must be rubbing off on him. 

Treasure seemed to have this same thought, as a confused pause bridged Propeller’s inquiry and his response. “The quarry in question lies out twenty miles, just by the weathered archipelago,” he explained, pointing out towards the open sea with one thick finger. “It lies at the bottom of the lagoon enclosed by the worn peaks of the island, guarded by a fearsome Grappen. My own vessel isn’t likely to triumph over the sheer power of such a beast, so we each have a role to play in dealing with it.” His finger raised to the sky just above the tiny peaks in the distance. “You and your crew can utilize the mobility provided by the mountains to distract and draw away the Grappen's wrath. I’ll take several of my best gulper mages down to where the treasure is, fathoms below the surface.”

Propeller Knight couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Hoh, you think I was born yesterday? _Non,_ I think I shall find a part to play in the retrieval of the lucre as well!”

Treasure crossed his arms, evidently displeased Propeller had read through his ulterior motives. “Well, then, what good is that propeller of yours underwater?” he asked tersely, stomping a foot purposefully against the hull beneath them. The submarine slowly lurched into motion, away from the bay. 

“I think your mind is more maths than memory!” remarked Propeller, gesturing for his flying machine to follow suit. “I have several nets, chains, lifts, all manner of sturdy and waterproof methods of goods transport. All it would take would be the right timing and trajectory, and _voilà!_ A sunken treasure is no longer sunk,” he explained, holding up his hands mystically. 

“Who’s going to distract the beast, then?” asked Treasure.

“Well, I do not need every single hand on deck to turn only a crank or two! I’ll send a few of my hoverhafts to get the job done, and there will be no issue!”

“Mhmm,” Treasure muttered incredulously. “With such a well-oiled machine at your disposal, I wonder if you haven’t already swiped a treasure or two from under my nose.”

“Ah, perish the thought!” insisted Propeller, putting a hand to the side of his helmet as if deeply offended. “I may be a dashing rogue of wide renown, but I do have my morals! And, of course, you do have to know where a treasure has sunk in order to fish it out,” he added meaningfully.

“Hmm… I suppose so,” said Treasure, uncertainty still tingeing his voice even through the thick barrier of his diving helmet. “It’s settled, then. I’ll guide your device down from below, and your men will distract the beast and supervise the retrieval.”

“ _Précisément!_ ” Propeller exclaimed, clapping affirmatively. “I am delighted we could come to a compromise.”

“I’m sure you are.”

With their plans all sorted, the next minute or so passed in silence as the Iron Whale advanced towards their destination. Propeller Knight simply couldn’t have that silence persist, of course, and hoisted himself up onto one of the submarine’s metal fins, beside where Treasure Knight was standing. 

“So! How did the party turn out last night, hmm? Did our dear King Knight manage to un-twist his undergarments?” asked Propeller with a chuckle.

“Well, things got a little more lively after the explosion,” said Treasure. “King went absolutely ballistic, and Plague got an earful before he spilled that it was Tinker who did it. Of course, King couldn’t accept the possibility that Plague had _nothing_ to do with it, and banned him and his lady from the castle on the spot. I’m sure he wasn’t too pleased with Tinker, either, likely would have given him more of the same if he could find him.”

“Is that so? I believe _monsieur_ Tinker owes me his gratitude, then!” laughed Propeller. “The explosion did quite a number on him, I took it upon myself to rush him back to his tower so that he might recover.”

“So Tinker _was_ responsible?” Treasure asked incredulously. “I figured Plague might have been lying, as usual.”

“Oh, it was only an innocent accident,” Propeller said. “Really, what he created was quite impressive! I don’t imagine he intended for it to explode…”

“I don’t think anyone intends for something to explode,” Treasure mused dryly. “With the exception of Plague, of course.”

Propeller scoffed. “I know that! But Tinker tends to be particularly deliberate, you know? Whenever I ask him what he has planned for any part of my flying machine, the details are quite extensive!”

“Oh? You still have him do your maintenance?” asked Treasure curiously. “I suppose it makes sense, if you’re still anchored so close to the tower… I’m just surprised you’re able to pull him away from his work!”

“Ah, you should know by now that no one is immune to my charms!” declared Propeller, striking a flirtatious pose. “Nevertheless, I am always delighted when he has the time to repair my machinery… He’s a genius, of course, but I also think doing work outside the tower is very good for him!”

“So, you mean to draw out his hidden complexities? Like what you’ve been trying to do with Specter?” guessed Treasure.

Propeller waved his hand dismissively. “Goodness, no! Well, yes, but Specter is quite a different case.”

“Oh, really.” It was impossible not to imagine Treasure rolling his eyes under his helmet. He stomped on the hull once more as they approached the archipelago, and the Iron Whale began to slow. 

“He is!” pouted Propeller, crossing his arms indignantly. “He has a buried conscience, a tarnished personality that needs only a bit of polish to shine! And that polish will come in the form of one charming gentleman such as myself maintaining a strong rapport between us.”

“Mhm,” muttered Treasure, opening the hatch into his submarine. “And Tinker’s different how?”

“Oh, quite different!” Propeller insisted, standing aside as five of Treasure’s gulper mages ascended the ladder through the hatch and onto the hull. “You see, Tinker already has a personality, and an interesting one at that! But, I did not see much of it for myself until he started doing maintenance more often.”

Treasure hummed a detached half-approval as he noted his mages were awaiting instruction. “Get your men into position, would you? Somewhere up by the mountains, perhaps a man stationed at each peak,” he ordered Propeller Knight, gesturing along the small mountaintops as he spoke. Propeller followed the path of his finger, and nodded. 

“Right away, _mon capitaine!_ ” He took off into the sky with a salute, blades whirring above his head. There was time enough to run his mouth even more to Treasure’s deaf, uninterested ears. For now, there was a creature to distract and a treasure to steal, and though Propeller hadn’t much of a plan for the actual distraction part, he figured it couldn’t be that difficult to improvise. 

He flew up to his now-parked airship, where several hoverhafts and meanies were already on deck ready for their orders. Propeller let himself land from a couple meters up, posing confidently as his feet hit the deck with a solid _thunk._

“ _Bien!_ ” he exclaimed, hands on his hips. “Each of you has a role to play in this operation. Let us see now…” He leapt onto the railing, surveying the mountains below. At the center of the worn, rocky ring, he could just make out a large, reddish shape slumbering beneath the waves. “On my count, fire every cannon into the lagoon! That should wake the creature up,” Propeller decided, and one hoverhaft rushed below deck to relay the order. 

“Afterward, everyone take a station on each peak, in equal numbers, and take distinct shifts in distracting the beast! Assault with your halberds, push it around, whatever it takes! Just make sure it is focused on only one group of you at a time,” Propeller added meaningfully. “If we split its attention too much, we will lose it entirely!”

His crew sounded off with various affirmations of their understanding, and he nodded approvingly. “In the meantime, I will supervise the retrieval of the lucre! Naturally, I shall send an order of retreat when all of the treasure has been obtained.”

“Ah, captain? What should we do in case the monster follows us back towards the ship?” asked one hoverhaft tentatively. Propeller Knight scratched at the side of his helmet as if it was his head. 

“Hm… I think a good smattering of cannon fire will keep it away as we retreat from its reach!” Hopefully, anyway. As usual, Propeller had hardly prepared any surefire solution for every possible outcome. Maybe one of these days he’d listen to Tinker and accept it as a personal flaw, but today was not that day. 

=======

With everyone in position several minutes later, Propeller Knight had nothing to do but stare dully through a telescope trained on the Iron Whale, waiting for the go-ahead from Treasure Knight. Propeller positively despised waiting (with no way to pass the time, anyway), so when Treasure turned to the flying machine and gave a firm thumbs-up, he wasted no time in leaping to his feet, putting one foot up heroically on the railing, and fiercely drawing and brandishing his rapier. 

“Fire, single shot!” he hollered, pointing the tip of his blade down at the lagoon. A second later a collective _poom_ sounded below decks, and a plethora of shining black cannonballs streaked downward and plunged into the ocean below, violently displacing the surrounding water into plume after plume of white sea foam. 

As soon as the foam began to dissipate, it formed anew from below, frothing and parting to make way for the sunset-toned mantle of an absolutely massive tentacled goliath. As it rose, its eight thick tendrils turned up to reveal round, black eyes on their ends, which twisted every which way to discern where the disturbance had originated from. 

“ _Allez, allez!_ Diversions!” called Propeller Knight, and several organized teams of hoverhafts and meanies took flight towards the mountains and began targeting the Grappen from afar. Having given all his orders, Propeller leapt from the deck’s railing and swooped down towards the underside of his ship, where a large metal claw on a cable was already descending from the bay doors. 

Sheathing his rapier, Propeller grabbed hold of the cable with both hands, and swung back and forth on it before sliding down to meet the top of the open claw. Leaning out to scope the retrieval point revealed wavy blobs of brown and purple below the waters’ surface, making their way slowly to the alleged site of the sunken loot. 

As the claw broke the ocean’s surface, Propeller Knight moved to hover beside it. Treasure Knight breached from under the waves and took hold of the claw, preparing to guide it down to the right spot. 

“Is it everything it was rumored to be?” asked Propeller, careful to keep his propeller steadily perpendicular. “Gold and jewels of value beyond our wildest imagination?”

“Well… More or less,” said Treasure, guiding the claw down, though his attention seemed mostly fixed on his mages at the bottom of the shallow lagoon. “It is very likely as valuable as the rumors told…”

“And?” Propeller quirked an eyebrow under his helmet. 

“Hm, that is to say… It’s just one piece,” Treasure muttered, nearly inaudible. 

“Hoh, come again?” prompted Propeller, incredulous. “One piece, you say?”

“Yes. A crown. Solid gold, encrusted in jewels. Likely worth hundreds of thousands,” Treasure explained reluctantly. “It must have been hidden and placed under guard for prestige.”

“Ah, of course!” Propeller raised and crossed his legs, as if casually seated in midair. “And how do you propose we split those hundreds of thousands?”

A pause. “I don’t.”

It took a moment for Propeller to process, and only a moment. It was hardly a surprise that Treasure had intended to double-cross him all along, and once he’d processed it happening, all he could do was burst out laughing.

“Of course! How very silly of me, _capitaine!_ ” he exclaimed, uncrossing his legs. “Your methods are so very reliable… Unfortunately, I cannot say they are in my own best interests!”

“Well, what will you do about it, hmm?” scoffed Treasure. “The bounty is below the water, and I’ve had your device anchored to the bottom of the lagoon!”

“Oh hoh hoh…” chuckled Propeller, laying a hand on the hilt of his rapier. “I have my ways of foiling your grand designs!”

Before Treasure could inquire further, Propeller Knight drew his blade and took a flying thrust at the side of the Grappen. One determined poke, and the land shook as the creature spun gracelessly to face them, tentacles whipping through the water. A couple of Treasure’s mages went flying up out of the waves, and Propeller just managed to catch a glimpse of a multicolored glimmer slipping out of one pair of hands.

“Aha!” Propeller rushed forth with his rapier out and hooked the crown onto its blade. Treasure bellowed in annoyance and let loose his grappling anchor, barely missing the sky pirate.

“So, how would you say your day has gone, ah?” chided Propeller casually, turning the crown in his hands a safe distance in the air. “You know what they say – heavy is the head that wears the crown!”

“Blast, you dry-lunged debutant!” seethed Treasure, ducking under a swinging tendril. “You’d never even wear a crown!”

“Hoh, you and I know neither of us would wear the thing!” Propeller said, wishing the weighty jeweled headpiece was light enough to twirl around his finger. “But you, you wouldn’t even sell it! It would simply waste away, unloved with all your other precious riches…”

“I value every coin in my vault! And what I do with it is none of your concern!” A shining projectile flew past Propeller’s shoulder from Treasure’s prosthetic. 

Propeller began his escape back up to the flying machine, crown hanging around his upper arm. “Then I would advise that you simply be grateful for what you have, because I am about to alleviate you of this dreadfully heavy burden!”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” Treasure fired his grappling anchor towards the claw cable, which hooked around and pulled him up closer to Propeller’s level. The Grappen followed his path, and turned its fury onto the two airborne knights.

“Ah, you mean to try and best me in my element?” guessed Propeller curtly, pulling teasingly at the cable to interfere with Treasure’s ascent. 

Treasure grunted with effort as he hoisted himself up the cable, hand over hook. “I mean to shoot that infernal propeller of yours and blast you out of the sky!”

“Oh, be my guest, _mon ami!_ I am already anticipating sending a request Tinker’s way!” Propeller laughed.

Treasure paused at that. “I’m… sorry?”

“ _Oui_ , it is always an effort to find something for him to fix!” said Propeller, kicking the eye of a tentacle lurching his way.

“Are you even listening to yourself? You _want_ things broken?” asked Treasure incredulously.

“I-” Propeller stopped mid-retort and thought back a moment. It was a bit of a strange thing to say. So, of course, he opted to double down. “I do! If not for my sake, then for his! Tinker is never the one to request an audience, you know.”

“Wh- Yes, but you can invite him to partake in activities that aren’t his job!” Treasure sputtered, torn between confusion and avaricious rage as he continued making a strong beeline for the crown on Propeller’s arm. “Aren’t you a socialite? You should know how these matters work far better than I!”

“I am! I’m the most dashing, debonair charmer this valley has ever seen!” Propeller proclaimed automatically, brandishing his rapier at arm’s length as two of the Grappen's tentacles set their sights on him. The sentiment fell a bit flat with Treasure’s words echoing in his mind, though.

“Are you so afraid to meet him under any circumstances that aren’t professional? You, who’s never ceased to slander the idea of business before pleasure?” inquired Treasure quizzically, briefly ceasing his ascent to brace himself as the cable shook intensely with the impact of the Grappen's offending appendages. “That’s rich, and no mistake!”

“Well, you would be right…” Propeller began, before trailing off. Treasure _would_ be right. Why hadn’t he ever asked Tinker to partake in a simple outing to the village, or one of the airship shows? Certainly, it was unlikely the engineer would find any of those pastimes worth abandoning his work for, but that wasn’t the sort of thing to deter Propeller from offering. He had included a brief request in his letter to Tinker that morning, but hadn’t seen fit to mention anything specific…

Lost in his thoughts, Propeller Knight had no hope of defending himself when one of the Grappen's tentacles slammed across his torso, knocking the wind out of him and sending him spiraling out of control as his blades jerked out of their equilibrium. The crown sailed off his arm, and with one calculated shot Treasure grappled it out of the air. Propeller would have smacked the surface of the ocean if it weren’t for two very attentive members of his crew, who seized his arms and pulled him up just as his boots plunged calf-deep into the water. This was why he didn’t tend to think before he acted, it always got him in such trouble.

“That was easier than usual!” Treasure remarked, jumping onto the hull of the Iron Whale as it sailed over to the cable. “Something is interfering with the spring in your step, sky pirate.”

“And who are you to posit that, hm?” asked Propeller, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice as he started up his own propeller again. “It wasn’t even you who felled me!”

“Well, I think your uncharacteristic uncertainty regarding a single semi-professional relationship is a hint!” Treasure said, slipping the crown onto his belt. “We aren’t in the Order anymore, you know? I wouldn’t expect you of all knights to continue acting under its pretenses.”

At that point, Propeller wasn’t sure what he could say in response that wouldn’t land him even deeper into the strange hole he had dug for himself, and reluctantly allowed the Iron Whale to sink back beneath the waves with the stolen loot. He had to get his ship and crew out of the Grappen's reach before anything else went wrong, and supposed the treasure was a fair enough trade for the food for thought he’d been given. He had indeed been soliciting Tinker for nothing beyond his mechanical expertise for quite some time. And he’d been the one trying to prove Tinker was more than that! 

No doubt, there was a simple way to fix this oversight. All that was left was to think of what they could do together. And as Propeller changed out of his soggy boots and socks on the flight back to the Valley, he realized he knew just the thing.

=======

Thankfully for Propeller Knight’s short supply of patience, he hadn’t long to wait before the mobile gear appeared on the path in the distance. Ecstatic, he pushed his telescope aside and prepared to leave the flying machine’s deck. 

“Tinker Knight, _mon petit ami!_ ” 

The engineer slowed his approach to the front door and looked up to see Propeller soaring gracefully down until he landed, looking determined and confident as usual. Perhaps more determined and confident than he actually felt, but Propeller was certainly not letting himself think about that at the moment. 

“Propeller Knight,” Tinker greeted him shortly, an almost distracting uncertainty in his voice. 

“ _Oui, c’est moi!_ It is relieving to see you on your feet after the events of last night,” remarked Propeller truthfully, briefly wondering how his first-aid attempts were holding up. “But, there will be time enough to discuss all of that! I know you are a busy man, so I shall be concise.”

“Eh? What do you mean?” The uncertainty was more than a little distracting now. 

“I meant what I said at the gala last night,” Propeller said, before straightening up assertively. “Tomorrow morning, _monsieur_ Tinker, you and I are going shopping!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks as always for reading! i don't know where you all came from (50 hits to 150 in between last chapter and this one was quite a shock to see :0) but i'm super glad you're along for the ride! and of course, your comments are keeping my crops watered as always haha; things should ramp up in more ways than one next chapter, so i hope you're all as excited as i am. with that said, have a lovely day, and i'll see you all again in a week or so!


	5. Bolts of Cloth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (deleted and reposted from last night, ao3 was having some issues whoops)
> 
> happy new year everyone! i resolve to stop promising chapters within one week, because boy this one took awhile. nevertheless, i hope you all like it! some real thick character development in this one, lads...

By the time the Clockwork Tower’s doorbell rang out through a grill in the wall, Tinker Knight had already been awake for three hours. His sleep had been fitful the night before, and his state of mind hadn’t improved much since. Half-functional prototypes of machines littered his workbench, small spring-loaded transports and devices that would never work full-scale. Well, perhaps they could, but when Tinker fiddled with spare parts and wires to divert his mind, he rarely drew up blueprints. The goal was to stop thinking, not think more. 

In any case, he’d given up trying to iterate a centrifugal wagon and/or a gyroscopic cooling unit around an hour ago, thanks to the utterly ceaseless derailing of his train of thought. Tinker’s mind had hopped around between all sorts of unrelated topics throughout the night, but amongst all that noise, his and Propeller Knight’s most recent conversation played on repeat like clockwork, clear as a bell. That was to say, it wasn’t exactly a conversation, but a greeting and a declaration. An objectively simple declaration that, against all logic, had kept Tinker up nearly the entire night.

A knock came at his door. “Boss, it’s Propeller Knight at the front door. Should we tell him you’re busy?” asked the cogslotter on the other side. 

“No,” answered Tinker. “I will be there to meet him.” He rubbed the last blemish off his welding mask and held it out before him, appraising it with tired eyes. In his unfounded stress, he had seen fit to polish his mask and pauldrons in anticipation for the outing, until he could just about see his reflection in the cold steel. Why he had done so remained a mystery, but if he kept Propeller waiting any longer with mental tangents, he feared his workshop would be invaded. 

After one final attempt to soothe his now two-day-long headache, Tinker put his mask in place, and grabbed his wrench and mobile gear on his way out of the workshop. This was a non-professional, recreational excursion. Tinker had gone out on plenty of those, and they had never ceased to succeed in clearing his mind at least a little. 

=======

“Ah, Tinker! How good of you to, ah…”

Tinker Knight shut the tower’s large front door behind him, and turned to see what was clearly Propeller Knight staring at him awkwardly. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “I know I’m a minute or several late -“

“ _Pardonne moi, monsieur,_ but… Did you not think to wear something more comfortable?” queried Propeller, gesturing frivolously at Tinker’s present attire. 

Tinker looked down to follow his gesture, confused. “It’s my work clothes. They’re comfortable enough, I wear them every day.”

“No, no, I meant something…casual, you know? Something you can put on when you’re out unwinding!” Propeller clarified, in a tone that indicated that what he was saying should be very obvious. 

Tinker scratched his head, seeing more clearly what Propeller meant but uncertain as to how he was expected to apply it. “I could…go get a different-colored version of this shirt?”

“Wha -“ Propeller put his hands to the sides of his helmet, looking utterly scandalized. “You mean to say you don’t have any unique ensembles in your wardrobe? Those shirts don’t even fit you!”

Tinker pushed up the oversized sleeve of his shirt self-consciously. “Well, I’d like to see _you_ try to find clothes in my size…”

“Oh hoh! I thought you would never ask!” sang Propeller, straightening up with his hands on his hips. Tinker certainly hadn’t asked, but he stayed silent, feeling as if he’d unleashed a powerful beast. “Well, even if you hadn’t, our plans would remain the same! We’re off to the outpost, _mon ami._ You have been there, yes?”

“Yeah, plenty of times,” answered Tinker. “It’s not that far from here.”

“Well, it’s about to be just a bit farther, as, well…we will be walking,” Propeller confessed, deflating a little. Tinker nodded. He had noticed the sky pirate was without his propeller. “They will not allow me inside any establishments with the blades, following a number of incidents I would rather not quantify,” Propeller explained, and Tinker was hardly surprised. “And the thing is so very cumbersome to carry around, so -” 

“Why don’t you just take the flying machine?” interrupted Tinker, who had immediately assumed Propeller would rather make an overzealous grand entrance than walk through the front entrance like everyone else.

“Ah, no can do, I’m afraid,” sighed Propeller melodramatically. “You see, myself and one of the outpost’s investors, we have...a bit of history. He’ll let me in, of course, he doesn’t _own_ the place, but he does control all air traffic, and has kept my ship on the blacklist since the first time I tried visiting. Of course, it may be for the best… My dear flying machine is a vessel of piracy, after all, the sight of it so low in the sky is liable to chill the blood of every shopkeeper and commoner in town!”

“Sure,” conceded Tinker, thinking of the several occasions when Propeller had vetoed offers to upgrade his ship’s propulsion or weapons because the amount of machinery necessary would have “usurped the ship’s luxurious aesthetic.”

“In any case, the weather is lovely today!” concluded Propeller, sweeping an arm out at the fluffy white clouds dotting the blue morning sky. “And I do need to use my legs for walking every once in a while,” he added with a chuckle. 

“Hmm, I’m surprised I haven’t offered to retrofit your propeller to be collapsible,” mused Tinker flatly, propping an elbow on his opposite palm and tapping his mask. 

“Come again? Collapsible?” Propeller prompted, already beginning to walk off down the road. Tinker shuffled frantically to keep up. 

“Yes, like my gear. That’s how I take it wherever I go, it’s designed to fold into a much smaller size when not in use,” explained Tinker. “It’s still heavy, of course, but I’m strong enough for it.”

“Ah, then am I to assume...you have it with you right now?” asked Propeller, leaning down a little as he walked.

Tinker had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going. “Yes...I always bring it in case I need it. Its uses are more than transportation.”

“Then, perhaps we can make use of it to speed our journey along, hm?” There it was. Time to think up excuses. 

“Well, it’s a delicate piece of machinery,” said Tinker. “It can’t hold more than a certain weight before malfunctioning, and eh, it’s...only large enough for one person to ride.”

Propeller laughed. “I am hardly as demonstrably heavy as I appear, _mon ami!_ I certainly would not be able to maneuver my propeller as well if I weren’t so dashingly lightweight.” His confident, statuesque pose shifted into a more thoughtful hand-on-chin pose. “It is a shame about the matter of size, however… What a nightmare it would be, for us to have to stand so close together.” 

Tinker Knight ignored the suggestive flair in Propeller’s tone of voice. He spoke that way to just about everyone, and it seldom meant anything. The matter of weight was a lie, through and through. Tinker was light, of course, but he always took armor and equipment into account when designing. Shovel Knight had certainly never had any trouble in his full-plate armor when he stole the thing.

It was harder to lie about a thing like size, though, and the mobile gear was definitely a one-man transport. The only way he and Propeller Knight would be able to ride it together would be if they stood more or less on top of each other. 

And, well, the thought of that had to be at least one reason why Tinker’s overheated headache was creeping back in.

=======

As the wall surrounding the Outpost grew visible on the horizon, Tinker Knight was feeling considerably more relaxed than before. After Propeller Knight had dropped the matter of the mobile gear, it hadn’t taken him long to lapse into one of his infamous stories. Tinker’s aching, amorphous worries were readily lost in the melodramatic shuffle of forbidden trysts, passionate airborne rivalries, and personally invaluable perennial flowers. It would be an eternity before Tinker at all understood why Propeller’s priorities lay the way they did, but it would be foolish not to see the bottomless well of passion he possessed for the romantic, perhaps more frivolous things in life. 

“Thus, _monsieur_ Cooper declared to never forgive my enviably errant ways!” Propeller concluded with a gestural flourish. “And I, well, I have indeed let him go… But he is still quite an amusing fellow, feathers so easily ruffled!”

Tinker nodded along, content as always to listen. Propeller’s thickly accented voice was melodious and consistent, and his stories were something of interest when Tinker’s own life was far less exciting by comparison. 

“Hoh, the outpost! We’re almost there!” exclaimed Propeller, triumphantly pointing one finger out at the wall in the near distance. “Come, if we hurry, we should reach the fancy shop just as its tailor finishes lunch!”

“What? Tailor? I don’t understand,” Tinker said, beginning to lose his calm equilibrium.

“Well, if you expect to find anything in your size, there is no finer man to approach!” Before Tinker had any more time to think, Propeller seized his hand and took off ahead at a brisk pace, dragging the now exceedingly out-of-sorts engineer behind him. He’d seen Propeller this impassioned before, but never had he been so pointedly involved in the subject of interest. 

When they passed the gates of the outpost Tinker was out of breath from his frantic attempts to stop Propeller from outright dragging him along the path, but Propeller unsurprisingly seemed entirely unaffected by the brief physical exertion. And, alarmingly, he had yet to release Tinker’s hand. 

“And there is the shop! It looks as if we are right on time,” said Propeller, thankfully slowing to a sauntering stroll now that they’d made it to the outpost. His grip had loosened considerably, so Tinker took the opportunity to yank back his hand. Propeller looked over at him, seeming strangely taken aback for a moment, before swiftly regaining his footing. “Trust me, _mon petit ami,_ you are in the right hands,” he said, and Tinker could still hear the smile in his voice.

Propeller threw open the door to the fancy shop with as much fanfare as one man could produce, and already Tinker was feeling overwhelmed looking around. Every accessory and article of clothing was far more elaborate than anything Tinker had worn in some years, and, of course, appeared to have been designed for much taller individuals. Whoever this tailor was, Tinker had the feeling he was about to unwittingly give them a very difficult afternoon.

“ _Monsieur_ Hat? I know you are here, you have a habit of locking your doors tighter than a corset when you are away from it!” called Propeller, leaning over the front desk. As he waited, he turned back to Tinker, switching to one elbow leaning casually on the desk. “This is a man of many talents. We will find something that fits you, _and_ who you are, before you can begin to try and overthink it!” he proclaimed, laying a reassuring hand on Tinker’s shoulder. For some reason Tinker felt compelled to force a smile that Propeller couldn’t see.

“Ah, Propeller Knight, sir.” A gentleman in a gold helmet and a long coat popped up from behind the desk. “One of my most illustrious, yet tragically un-hatted customers. Tell me, are you at last in search of a haberdasher?” he inquired, turning an elaborate-looking piece of headgear in his black-gloved hands.

Propeller laughed. “ _Non, non,_ my good man, I am here to ask a favor for one of my dearest friends!” He gestured grandly at Tinker Knight, who gave a small uncertain wave. “As you can see, he is in dire need of a wardrobe update.”

“Oh, yes, hmm, the reclusive engineer,” mused Mr. Hat, looking Tinker up and down. “A difficult case, to be sure… But I have never met a customer I cannot satisfy! For the right price, of course,” he added, holding out his hand.

“ _Oui, oui,_ here is your portion up front,” Propeller sighed, dropping a sachet of gold into the shop owner’s open palm. 

“Wait, you can’t… This is my eh, clothing, isn’t it?” asked Tinker. “You can’t be the one who pays!”

“Hoh, but I can!” declared Propeller, pointing confidently. “You must understand that this is a favor for both of us, no?” Tinker couldn’t help but imagine Propeller winking under his helmet. Though it was the one thing Tinker never had to overthink, it did get a little exhausting when Propeller absolutely never saw fit to turn off his charm. 

“Alright, let’s see here,” muttered Mr. Hat, going through a rack of outfits. “Cut and pattern is imperative when it comes to height… What sort of flair do you desire?”

“Oh, something intellectual!” asserted Propeller immediately, spreading his arms grandly. “Casual, thoughtful, careful consideration and yet brave new ideas! A fresh face, a bold era of industry -”

“How old do you think I am?” interrupted Tinker, crossing his arms. Propeller stared at him with a new uncertainty.

“Ah…twenty-five? Twenty-seven?” he guessed.

Tinker quirked an eyebrow under his mask. “I’m 35.”

Propeller Knight and Mr. Hat looked at the engineer as if he had two heads. “What?” groused Tinker, feeling increasingly offended. “Do I look immature to you?”

“ _Non,_ nonsense!” insisted Propeller hastily, holding up his hands as Mr. Hat awkwardly turned back to his search. “I always imagined you were simply very mature for your age -”

“It’s the height, isn’t it.”

“I - well… Yes, perhaps, but I never considered you immature! Only younger. Besides,” Propeller added, regaining his footing. “Now would have been the perfect opportunity to lie about it!”

“Well, when almost everyone makes the exact same assumption you just did for the better part of one’s entire life, it’s easy to have a kneejerk reaction,” Tinker explained stiffly.

“Oh, come now, it may not sound like it, but at this point, being thought of as young is a compliment!” Propeller remarked. “Once you pass a certain age, it is no longer flattering to be, ah…”

“Old?” prompted Tinker.

Propeller scoffed. “You are not _old!_ Only a few years older than I am…”

“And you are…?”

“Oh, hoh, you have got another thing coming if you expect me to tell you that!” laughed Propeller, folding his arms behind his head. “I would be one sorry debutant if I left nothing to the imagination.”

“All right, I think I may have the style for you,” said Mr. Hat, drawing a couple outfits from the rack. “Industrious, semi-formal. Vertical patterns are better for height, and thinner fasteners are better for width. All that remains to be seen is coloration, and sizing.”

“Oh, _c’est magnifique!_ You never cease to satisfy with your choices,” exclaimed Propeller, taking a closer look. Tinker joined him skeptically. 

The ensemble lacked an overcoat, but the main piece appeared to be a sturdy but elegant vest, with three fasteners holding it closed at the center. The shirt under it was crisp and collared, with rounded cuffs and small buttons. The knickers it went with were two shades, separated into thick vertical stripes. It wasn’t like anything Tinker had worn before, and he still found himself rather unenthused. 

“It’s a little...flashy, don’t you think?” he asked Propeller, who instantly sighed in exasperation.

“ _Mon dieu,_ it is as I always say about scientists! Substance over style. You cannot wear what you work in everywhere you go!” he insisted, poking at one of Tinker’s bolt-shaped pauldrons. “No matter how impeccably you wash and polish it all. Now!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands. “No outfit is complete without an accessory… And I think one of these would fit you well!” Propeller pulled a cravat from a display. “They certainly complete many of my ensembles.”

“If you say so,” conceded Tinker, lifting his arms at Mr. Hat’s prompting to make way for his tape measure. “It works for you fine, but it seems kind of...overly suave.”

“Suave is never a negative adjective!” replied Propeller. “Besides, a cravat is hardly a formal piece. I wear them to demonstrate my devil-may-care attitude! I may mostly dress the part of a refined militant swordsman, but a casual touch says that I am by no means short on joviality! You see?” he asked, hands firmly on his hips. 

“I guess,” Tinker answered, agreeing that Propeller’s choice in fashion did appropriately communicate the sort of fellow he was before they had even traded a word as coworkers. “But I’m not sure this kind of dress is really, eh…me.”

“Hoh, I beg to differ,” returned Propeller, looking around for something else as he talked. “You are quite mistaken if you mean to say that your work clothes are the beginning and end of what you are able to wear! Certainly, they tell me you are a man of industry, and very diligent in your endeavors, but as I have said before: you are more than your profession! And how you dress outside of your Tower will make that delightfully clear.”

That’s what I’m afraid of, Tinker nearly said. Instead he crumpled up and disposed of that thought like an ill-conceived blueprint and refocused his attention on Propeller, who had returned from across the room with a pair of short but large cloth gloves. “What are those for?” he asked.

Propeller scoffed in amusement. “For you, of course! I can’t let you get away with wearing those bulky leather gloves with that outfit…”

“Bulky is right,” said Tinker. “I don’t think you know how engineering gloves work.” He removed one glove, his oversized shirt sleeve falling a little after it. If Tinker didn’t tug it back up past his elbow, it would have fallen far enough to cover his now ungloved left hand.

Of all the reactions Tinker had been expecting, a gasp was probably in around third or fourth place. And definitely not the small, quiet gasp that Propeller let out. 

“Oh, I ought to feel quite foolish, but… _Zut,_ those gloves make them appear twice as big!” he exclaimed, taking both Tinker’s hands and holding them close for comparison. “How do you even move your fingers?”

“Eh… Years of wearing them, I guess,” muttered Tinker awkwardly, moving his fingers on both hands to demonstrate. Propeller chuckled shortly, then stood back up. 

“I shall find you a more fitting pair of gloves then, no?” Propeller went back to searching, a little too fast. Tinker hastily removed his other glove and put them aside. He hadn’t meant to make Propeller feel stupid, but apparently the fact that his gloves were thick enough to withstand molten metal wasn’t as obvious as he’d assumed. 

“I, ah, I think cloth gloves will be a nice change of pace, you know? Your hands look...dreadfully dry from wearing that thick leather all day,” remarked Propeller, and his unusual stumbling sentences all but confirmed that Tinker had said or done something wrong. 

Mr. Hat stood up from beside Tinker, throwing his tape measure around his shoulders. “Well, there are all the necessary measurements. With my tailoring hat on, I should have this outfit down to size in no time at all! Finally, the palette?” 

Propeller snapped to attention. “Ah, yes! The color, of course. Tinker?”

“Wha- Me?” sputtered Tinker, confused. Propeller nodded, oddly silent. “Eh, turquoise?” 

“Very well, turquoise it is. Back in a blink!” said Mr. Hat, dramatically throwing open a curtain behind the desk and retreating, perhaps to some sort of workshop.

“Turquoise, hmm?” repeated Propeller quizzically, some moments after they’d been left alone. 

“Yes. What of it?” asked Tinker, already inwardly backpedaling his careless decision. 

“Well, now I know what your favorite color is!” Propeller said triumphantly, crossing his arms as he stood up yet again. “I knew it couldn’t just be brown.”

Tinker did a double take. “You don’t know that! I just said what first came to mind.”

“And what first came to mind was turquoise? You cannot fool me, _mon ami,_ it makes too much sense!” Propeller perused the store’s footwear as he continued to boast. “Anything in your tower that isn’t brown, or silver… Turquoise!”

“Well… Just because it’s my favorite doesn’t mean I want it everywhere,” conceded Tinker. “You’d better not be finding a pair of turquoise boots over there.”

Propeller laughed. “Oh, not at all. I quite agree an ensemble cannot be monochromatic… Still, I now have a better idea of what to choose!”

=======

Around thirty minutes and a decent (if not strangely awkward) lunch later, Tinker Knight was standing behind the curtain of the dressing room, facing the wall on the off-chance that someone or even a breeze displaced the curtain. He could hear Propeller and Mr. Hat discussing something or other outside, but his focus was all on donning the outfit that had been tailored for him. And it had been tailored expertly, he had to admit. He didn’t find himself tightening the belt on the knickers too much, and the shirt sleeves fit snugly along his arms, with no need to roll up the cuffs. That didn’t mean Tinker didn’t want to roll them up, though. He was hardly used to his arms being so tightly covered, and promptly pushed them up to his elbow. 

The vest was actually quite appealing now that it had been tailored to fit, and the pair of caramel-brown boots Propeller had selected went nicely with the teal and cerulean shades of the rest of the outfit. The cravat proved something of a roadblock, though, as Tinker had no earthly idea how to tie one. He did know how to tie a knot, however, so that was the not-so-elegant solution he went with. 

“Tinker, _monsieur?_ Is the outfit conquering you?” came Propeller’s voice from the other side of the curtain. “If you need any assistance at all -”

“No, no, I’m almost done,” Tinker interrupted, pulling on the gloves and getting his mask back into place. “Just be patient…”

“Hoh, you know me, _mon ami!_ I do not know the meaning…of…” 

As Propeller Knight trailed off following Tinker’s leaving the changing room, it occurred to Tinker that he should have perhaps announced his impending reappearance. Or at least waited for Propeller to finish his sentence. Now Propeller was staring at him, and for once didn’t immediately have anything ready to say. An uncomfortable half-minute passed in silence before Tinker felt compelled to prompt a response. 

“How, eh, how does it look?” he asked, turning around and attempting one of the many poses he’d witnessed Propeller striking. Propeller stifled some indiscernible noise, and Tinker rolled his eyes, shoulders dropping. “Look, I told you, this kind of stuff isn’t -”

“ _Non, non, c’est un triomphe!_ ” interjected Propeller frantically. “It is a fantastic style on you… That cravat -”

“I know, I know, you can show me how to do it right,” muttered Tinker, starting to untie it.

“No, leave it! It is very much you, and in a very good way!” Propeller insisted. “And I never would have thought to push up the sleeves…”

“It was just habit,” said Tinker. “Probably ruined the shirt.”

“Hoh, a bit of pressure and steam will get the creases right out. But! Most importantly, how...do _you_ feel?” asked Propeller. 

Tinker had to think on that for a moment, he’d been too caught up in Propeller’s reaction. He’d never heard such a tremor in the sky pirate’s voice, and figured he had to be lying. But one of the things he appreciated most in Propeller’s manner of speech was its consistency, and even when he told the whitest of lies it slotted in seamlessly with whatever truths he meant to embellish or conceal.  
“It’s, eh… It’s different,” he said, remembering Propeller was waiting on a response. “But it’s more comfortable than I was expecting.”

“Very good! See, you needed only to give it a chance.” Propeller stood, looking long and closely at every inch of the ensemble and how Tinker was wearing it. Looking for imperfections? More simplistic choices to make into compliments? Propeller was usually so easy to read, it was almost annoying how inconsistent he was now. 

“So, what’s...next, then?” Tinker asked. Propeller’s deep, critical line of vision snapped back to meet Tinker’s.

“Well! Now you have two unique ensembles. And in your case, there is ample room for more,” he said thoughtfully.

“What! More? I’m feeling drained after just one!” protested Tinker, fully expecting Propeller to just laugh that off. And he did laugh, but like before, it was clipped and forced. What in the world did Tinker need to do to salvage this?

“Ah, if you insist,” Propeller conceded with a shrug and a handwave. “I consider it a triumphant victory to have assisted in finding at least one thing that fits you! In two ways,” he added with a chuckle. Tinker huffed and crossed his arms. At least things were starting to sound normal again, even if it definitely wasn’t like Propeller to quit while he was ahead.

=======

“Perhaps we could make it a weekly thing, no? You and I, the outpost… Within a month, we’ll have conjured you an entire wardrobe!” proposed Propeller Knight frivolously as they approached the gate of the outpost.

“A _month?_ ” Tinker repeated, shopping bag held firmly as far from the ground as he could manage without looking ridiculous. “How big is _your_ wardrobe?”

“Far more than a month’s worth of outfits! An entertainer such as myself must have variety,” Propeller pointed out, framing his helmet with open palms. 

“Hm, for someone with so much clothing, you sure seem to like wearing…that same outfit…” Tinker trailed off, getting very distracted by something strange, off in the distance. 

“Well, obviously! Haven’t you ever heard of a signature look?” scoffed Propeller, waiting a moment for a response before noticing Tinker was hardly listening. “Ah? What is it?”

“Out there,” said Tinker, pointing out towards the edge of the valley. “Where the Tower of Fate used to be.”

Propeller followed his finger to see what he had noticed: an unnatural magenta beacon spiraling up from the mountains where the undisturbed rubble of the Tower of Fate had sat for the past few months. Other passersby had taken notice as well, and worried murmurs gradually filled the afternoon air. 

“How very strange. I wonder what it could possibly mean?” mused Propeller. “No one has seen any sign of the Enchantress since the Tower fell…”

Tinker Knight wished he was in private enough company to try and soothe the throbbing in his head. He already knew the answer. The purplish streak in the sky, the half-mechanical amalgams. A sudden twinge twisted his stomach. The _mirror_ …

“Hear ye, all!”

Tinker’s spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a clear, ringing voice from behind him and Propeller, and they turned to see none other than Shield Knight standing atop the gate, shields in hand as always. 

“Pridemoor has taken note of the unusual developments at the tower, and its king implores you not to worry!” she called out, as the populace gradually gathered around the gate. “We are in the process of discerning the cause and meaning of this development. And in that endeavor, Pridemoor requests that any and all Knights with knowledge or experience dealing with the Enchantress or her forces attend an emergency meeting at the keep tonight! And, uh, there’s an addendum he gave me on the way out…” She paused, pulling out a scrap of parchment. “Ah yes! Any former Order members who have been recently ‘banned’ from the keep by the crown prince have been pardoned on all accounts in light of this summit.”

“Hoh, what a shocking development,” chuckled Propeller. “I am sure we’ll only find King in good spirits over this!” Still lost in worried thought, all Tinker could do was nod to that.

Shield folded the note back up and faced the crowd again. “Right, that’ll be all! Stay calm, everyone, this is all being investigated by my shoveled associate as we speak. As for you Knights, I’d better see you at the meeting!” She pointed a shield at Propeller and Tinker.

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it, _ma dame_ ,” said Propeller reassuringly, with an over-the-top bow. Once again Tinker only nodded, any and all scraps of social competence overridden by the same couple of paralyzing, cyclical thoughts. This was his fault. Only several minutes of putting caution aside, and he’d heralded the return of the valley’s greatest threat mere months after its defeat. 

Needless to say, Tinker Knight was not looking forward to admitting this to a full table of former colleagues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot thickening! feelings manifesting! wardrobes expanding! hope you all enjoyed this big calm before the storm. by the way, if you're particularly interested in seeing the outfit tinker donned within this chapter, as well as a couple others that didn't make the cut, i drew them up and posted them on my tumblr!: https://determunition.tumblr.com/post/639170379443748864/in-the-latest-chapter-of-my-fic-propeller-forces i've posted a couple other fic-related things over there, and shall continue uh, whenever i feel like it haha
> 
> thanks again for reading and commenting!! it always means the world to hear from you guys, i'm ecstatic you all enjoyed last chapter and dearly hope you enjoyed this one as well! see you all next chapter, where both our leading knights are gonna have to, uh, confront some stuff..


	6. A Wrench in the Works

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA propeller has no clue where to put all these feelings of his
> 
> thanks for your patience and your support, as always! hope you all enjoy ^^

“So, then, it’s you who’s to blame for all this, _engineer!_ ”

Propeller Knight had only been half-listening (at most) to the overlapping conversations of the emergency meeting, but this particular accusation from King Knight did command part of his attention. 

“Well, it was in the keep _you_ live in, but yes,” answered Tinker Knight, standing on the chair beside Propeller with his arms firmly crossed. “I was the one who messed with the mirror.”

“Now, my boy, what’s this about a mirror?” asked King Pridemoor, who sat at the head of the long table flanked by former Order members and the occasional unaffiliated traveler. “I don’t recall issuing a decree of that nature…”

“I-Irrelevant!” sputtered King, slamming a fist on the table. “The point is, this steel-minded fiend tampered with it, and now my kingd- Er, the Valley is in grave danger!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’tve had a big doomsday mirror in the castle to begin with!” pointed out Mole Knight from a few seats down, drumming his claws on the sanded mahogany. “What kind of evil things were you gonna do with it if Tinker didn’t blow the thing up?”

“I’ll talk with the boy after the meeting,” asserted Pridemoor. “Those sorts of experiments are not what Pridemoor Keep stands for -”

“I am no boy!” seethed King. “What I decree as _future_ king is no one’s business but my own!”

“Hee, shouldn’t the king himself know all goings-on within his walls?” questioned Plague Knight, tapping his mask thoughtfully as he swirled some elixir in a bottle with his other hand. “How do we know you’re not both rushing to hide some super-secret plot? And why, hee hee, would you have a super-secret plot with alchemy in it and not consult an expert?” he added, sticking a fancy straw through the mouth of the bottle.

“To avoid this exact conversation!” snapped King, looking away as if scorned. 

“And what a good plan that turned out to be,” remarked Specter Knight dryly, raising a hand to catch King’s scepter as it was swung down in an attempt to connect with his head.

“Enough, all of you!” All eyes turned to the other end of the table, where Shield Knight had just stood up to address the room. “King is right in one regard. The Valley is in danger, and it won’t be in any less danger if we simply continue shifting blame around for the initial incident.”

Pridemoor hummed in approval, and Shield leapt purposefully onto the table. Ignoring the resulting outraged cry from King farther down the row, she continued. “What we need to do now is pool our intelligence of the Enchantress and her forces, and decide how we ought to combine our strengths to defeat this evil once and for all.”

Begrudgingly, the former Order members fell silent, with a couple more approving hums from the travelers and, of course, Shovel Knight, from his seat by the end of the table. 

“Ah, did you not once walk in the Enchantress’s shoes?” prompted Pridemoor with a regal gesture of his hand. “Your knowledge of her motives and methods must be vast indeed!”

“Well, it would be more accurate to say that she walked in mine, but nevertheless…” 

Propeller lost track of what Shield was saying as the conversation thankfully drifted away from Tinker’s mistake. It was hardly his fault, especially when Propeller had been the one to encourage him. At the moment, however, this was not what was occupying Propeller’s mind. He almost wished it was, as it was at least a less complicated matter to distract him. If it was on his mind, he could have at least defended Tinker properly a few moments prior, but Propeller didn’t trust himself in the slightest to say anything proper, not now. 

“Propeller Knight? Did you not hear my question?”

Shield Knight’s commanding voice roused Propeller back to the present once again. She was standing before him, pointing with her buckler. A quick look revealed that all eyes were on him now. Still out of whack but not desiring in the slightest to lose face in front of such an audience, Propeller folded his arms behind his head, and leaned back in his chair. “I must admit it did not quite reach my ears, _ma dame_ ,” he answered smoothly. “Would you terribly mind repeating it?”

“Not terribly, no.” She swung out her arm towards the rest of the table. “There is more planning and research to be done, but as of now, everyone is electing to assist repelling the Enchantress’s eventual diabolical advance with their respective strengths. What can you bring to the table – literally?”

“Well, my ship, of course! She is a force to be reckoned with, though she may look built for no more than luxury,” offered Propeller, spreading his arms grandly as he described his machine.

“Are you sure about that?” asked Shovel from down the table. “Aside from being a terror to navigate, it doesn’t seem like there’s much to it.”

“Hoh, bite your tongue!” Propeller commanded indignantly. “You haven’t once seen her truly in action!”

“Oh, but I have,” mentioned King nonchalantly at the other end. “It wasn’t much trouble to deal with, all things considered.”

“That was some time ago, you can’t expect I haven’t -”

“There’s no need to get up in arms about it, Propeller,” said Shield. “Strong or not, she is still only one ship. Perhaps you can utilize your assets to support another Knight’s efforts?”

“Hm, I suppose,” muttered Propeller, plopping back into his seat with crossed arms.

“Very good!” Shield cast her gaze up and down the table. “Anyone in need of air support?” No one answered for a good few seconds.

“We, hee, have a robust supply of catapults at our disposal!” chirped Plague. “And I can’t imagine firepower will be an issue for us, hee hee…”

“All my strongest plans of attack are subterranean,” Mole said with a fiery shrug.

“I’m not going to start trusting your partnership just because we’re all unified against a common enemy!” asserted Treasure Knight firmly.

“God, there isn’t any need to say anything when none of it is of any use,” hissed Specter in annoyance. “Not that I have anything to add either…”

“Hmm…” Shield put a hand to her chin in thought. “Oh! I know, why don’t you assist Tinker? You’re already stationed very close to each other, right?”

Propeller was glad his helmet effectively covered his frozen expression. “I-...ah…”

“It works fine for me,” said Tinker next to him. “I am sure we could work out a couple modifications to the ship, I know a lot about its makeup already.” He sounded more determined than he had at any point in the past few months. Clearly he saw something to prove in fixing the mess he’d partially created. Any other time Propeller would have simply admired and encouraged Tinker’s trademark tenacity, but now it was just making Propeller kick himself all the more for his short-sightedness. 

“Splendid! It’s all settled, then.” Shield marched back down to the end of the table and got back down off of it. “I’ll keep track of everyone’s progress, your majesty. With any luck, by the time the Tower of Fate begins to rise again we’ll all be ready and synchronized.” Propeller’s stomach dropped and pooled in his boots. Synchronized was very much the opposite of how he felt at that moment.

“Excellent work, Shield Knight. I see I was right to put my faith in your leadership!” remarked Pridemoor, standing to address the table. “Right then, you heard the lady! Ready your finest forces, polish your perfect plots. Let us nip this issue in the bud before it gets out of hand, shall we?”

Everyone murmured or chirped in agreement, and those at the table gradually dispersed. Propeller stood, breathing deep. There was no way he could work like this, especially not with -

“To the Clockwork Tower, then?” asked Tinker, falling in beside him as they made their way back out into the main hall. “I have yet to draw up blueprints, of course, but there is a lot of brainstorming to be done.”

“Yes, of course!” agreed Propeller with a haphazard nod. “I don’t doubt that you already have many wonderful ideas, _mon petit ami_ …” Oh dear, had he really been calling him that for the entirety of their friendship and not thought anything of it?

“Well, I would not call them wonderful, per sé, but I do have a lot of them,” Tinker said. “The earlier we get back to the tower, the more time we’ll have to discuss all of it. Unless, of course, you don’t mind staying later tonight?”

“A-Ah, I don’t, not at all!” Propeller looked around at everyone else leaving, not finding what he was searching for. “Say, did you happen to catch where _monsieur_ Specter went off to?”

“Specter? Back to his home, I guess, like everyone else. He must have slipped out just before the meeting ended,” suggested Tinker.

“Hoh, I see, well… I’ve actually got to go and...discuss something with him!” said Propeller. “It’s very important.”

“Huh? Shield paired you and I, though,” Tinker pointed out. “Specter gave no indication he needed any help. I don’t mean to impose, but things are pretty urgent right now.”

Why on earth did Tinker need to be so distractingly headstrong? “It...is just as urgent that I talk with Specter!” Propeller responded, straightening up and regaining a fraction of his composure. “As the Enchantress’s former enforcer, he is certain to possess information we might employ in our own designs! Naturally you and I have a bit of first and secondhand experience ourselves, but he was more or less at her right hand during our collective tenure!”

Tinker stopped, now that they had made it out of the castle and onto the road, and Propeller stopped alongside him. He looked up to meet Propeller’s line of vision with a hand resting on the lower end of his mask, as if it was on his chin in thought. 

“ _Je promets_ , Tinker, I will not be long,” insisted Propeller. “And I fully intend to return with knowledge we can use!”

“Hmm… Fine, then,” conceded Tinker flatly, turning to face the path deeper into the valley. “I’ll draw up blueprints in the meantime. We can go over them later tonight.”

Propeller suppressed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Tinker, I knew you would understand!”

“Mhm. Don’t stay too long. I know you’re sensitive about making modifications to the flying machine, and want to run everything by you before getting the tools.”

“Ah, how very thoughtful of you! I’ll be certain not to disappoint,” said Propeller, turning on his blades. “Until later tonight, _mon ami!_ ”

He quickly took off and set a course for the Lich Yard before he let himself worry anymore about Tinker. He was hardly stupid, and had almost certainly seen through Propeller’s lie, if his voice was anything to go by. That didn’t matter, though, Propeller kept telling himself. The important thing was that it had worked enough for him to be on his way to the Lich Yard with only minimal regrets. As long as Tinker remained unaware of the true reason why he needed to speak with Specter, Propeller had nothing to worry about.

=======

It took a moment for Propeller Knight to spot Specter from the air, until he made the unusual observation that Specter Knight was in the village, rather than its outskirts. He appeared to be adjusting some kind of reddish lantern, one in a long line stretching around the perimeter of town.

“Hoh, _monsieur_ Specter Knight! You are just the man I need to see!” called Propeller from above the treetops, descending as Specter looked up from his task in confusion. 

“Are you sure?” he asked incredulously. “I’m fairly sure I heard Shield Knight pair you up with Tinker.”

“ _Oui, oui,_ but that is the problem! I must talk to you Specter, it’s very important,” pleaded Propeller, following Specter down to the next lantern in line.

Specter took a curious skull-like object from an unseen pocket and held it to the lantern. “As important as preparing the Lich Yard’s defenses for the Enchantress’s impending advance? I’m not going to leave Missy to do all the work herself.”

“It is far more important. And you will not have to leave your post! Just listen to me,” declared Propeller, hovering just above the lantern so that he was back in Specter’s line of sight.

Specter sighed, closing the lantern’s front panel. “All right, I’ll bite. What is it.”

By this time, Propeller felt full to bursting. “It’s… Well, it’s Tinker! He’s… Well, he’s smart, and clever, and very determined, I’m sure you know…”

“Mhmm.”

“He may be a bit too cautious for his own good at times, but you must admit he is an expert planner, very thoughtful!” mentioned Propeller, following an exceedingly nonplussed Specter down to another lantern. “When the odds are stacked against him, he only plots his way around them!”

“Yeah, and?” asked Specter, holding up the skull once again. 

“He thinks differently, too! I have thought about this for some time now, but Tinker, he’s quite creative for being so mechanically minded, you know? He is very serious about his work, but what he designs and builds is all very unique, whimsical at times! His weapons, his clockwork creatures, even his toys.”

“Yes, that certainly is something you could posit about his character,” conceded Specter in a dull tone. “How is this anything urgent, again?”

“Oh, and the worst part is, he’s very mature! Responsible, wise in a very down-to-earth way… I’ve had no choice but to admire it, being the opposite way myself! And it makes sense, now that I know he’s older… Older, and handsome when he dresses well…” Propeller trailed off, conjuring quite an appealing image in his mind from earlier that day.

“Again, I ask, why are you telling me all this right now? Just get to the point,” Specter said, having a bit of trouble with the lantern they had just arrived at.

Propeller snapped back to attention. “Ah, _oui_ , of course. You see, I…” His chest seemed to seize up a moment. It had been awhile, he’d forgotten entirely how difficult it could be to say it. “I think I have feelings for him.”

A long, incredulous silence passed between him and Specter as the latter got around to lighting the lantern. “You _think_ ,” he repeated, finally looking at Propeller with a look that could only be of incredulity. 

“ _Dieu_ , is it that obvious?” sighed Propeller, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck. “Then I’m in more trouble than I thought…”

“Trouble? What are you talking about?” groaned Specter. “Just stop thinking about it until we’ve ensured the Enchantress’s defeat.”

“But that is the trouble, don’t you see?” implored Propeller, sitting atop a nearby roof with his feet over the edge. “I’ve got to work with Tinker! How am I supposed to do that, with all of these feelings I’m only now realizing? He’ll be so distracting, too! When last we spoke, he was so determined…” Propeller sighed again, sliding down halfway off the roof. “He’ll be taking charge, throwing around those ingenious ideas of his, thinking of every eventuality and considering my every strength and weakness as he constructs the perfect plan!” He landed on the ground below, posture sagging defeatedly before he straightened up once again, hands raised desperately. “How am I meant to survive, Specter?” he asked, exasperated. 

Specter gave a start. “Wh- How am I supposed to know? What made you think I’m the authority on this kind of thing?”

Propeller raised his eyebrows under his helmet. “Well, you’re a very trusted friend of mine! I knew I could confide in you, to hear my feelings and keep them between you and I -”

“We’re hardly acquaintances!” interrupted Specter. “Tss, I respond to your letters with pleasantries alone and this is what you make of it…”

“Hoh, don’t you try and fool me, _mon ami!_ You would not take the trouble to respond at all if you didn’t care to make friends!” pointed out Propeller. “Besides, I have been halfway around the world, Specter! I have seen men like you before, and they are not so opposed to fellowship for no reason at all. I would bet my very blades you have at least some wise words to impart upon me!” he added, crossing his arms.

Specter averted his gaze, a dry breeze stirring his cloak. “Hm,” he muttered. “My reasons are far behind me now.”

“Ah, I knew it!” exclaimed Propeller in triumph, putting a grateful arm around Specter’s shoulders. “You are far more worldly than you’d have anyone believe, no?”

Specter shrugged off Propeller’s arm with another tired scoff. “You’re sure it’s worth going down such a downward spiral for _Tinker Knight?_ ” he asked dubiously, shooing Propeller back as he began drawing out some strange rune in the grey dirt beneath them. “For all his ingenuity, he’s high-strung, neurotic, aloof…and, well, you know…” Specter trailed off, pausing his task to hold out his free hand around four feet from the ground. 

Propeller rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. “If you have ever been in love yourself, Specter, you know I’m hardly thinking of those things! In fact, with worries like his, I’d say I’m confident I could be a positive influence! And, well, I was, when I thought I was only motivated by uncomplicated curiosity…” he murmured, knitting his fingers together with an unusual bashfulness. Specter observed it with unreadable body language.

“Well, why can’t it be like that again?” suggested Specter. “Uncomplicated curiosity. At least until there’s a better moment to tell him how you feel…”

“It isn’t that easy!” Propeller scoffed, sitting defeated on the ground as he watched Specter draw in the soil. “I have achieved a clarity I cannot forget! Inevitably, I will hear his smart, terse-toned words and watch him put together some gadget or another, on that workbench that’s a couple feet too tall for him, and I will know that the smile on my face is not simply amusement, and that the flutter in my heart is not simply admiration.” 

Specter groaned once again. “Aren’t you a socialite? You speak suggestively to nearly everyone under normal circumstances, treating everything as a performance, I have a hard time believing that it’s so hard for you to act natural just because you’re feeling slightly more romantic than usual,” he said, finishing up the rune. 

“Hoh, it is easy enough to act in love, then drop the act, but… True feelings are a very different, untamed beast,” explained Propeller, standing back up as Specter seemed prepared to move on. “I know the siren song of lust nearly daily, but have very rarely been faced with something deeper… Specter, there must be another way I can be what he needs me to be right now, some way to be there for him without suppressing myself entirely!”

“Still don’t know why you think I -“ Specter started, before cutting himself off with a sigh. He stopped abruptly, and turned to face Propeller. “Look. Why don’t you just flirt around like you usually do? He won’t know the difference.”

Propeller feverishly looked down at his hands. “But I will -“

“It doesn’t matter. He can’t read your mind, and as long as you can help and flirt at the same time, there will be no drama to be had.” Propeller mulled over the suggestion. It was simple, certainly, but he hardly trusted himself not to go too far… No, that was just it. It was simple. Propeller has been thinking this all through far too much. He didn’t know how Tinker Knight managed to live, if his mind was chugging along like this at all times. 

Though Specter wouldn’t see it, Propeller forced a smile. “Thank you, _monsieur._ I knew you would be the one to bring me back down to earth!”

“Don’t go thinking we’re friends just because I kept my patience for your nonsense this one time,” said Specter, jabbing one finger assertively at the air before Propeller.

Propeller chuckled, raising his hands defensively. “Why, I would never! If it so pleases you, I would say we hardly know each other!”

“Good. And if you really do assume I’ll keep all of this between you and I, you’re sorely mistaken,” he added, a sudden devilish twinge presenting itself in his otherwise cold tone of voice.

“Wha -” Propeller crossed his arms. “And whatever do you mean by that, hm?”

“Well, most wouldn’t care to know, but… Perhaps I will begin considering an industrial renovation or two, here in the Lich Yard,” suggested Specter, turning his scythe in his hand. “As I begin my search for qualified contractors, I imagine I’ll soon find myself quite the audience.”

“Hohh, you wouldn’t!” exclaimed Propeller, putting a scandalized hand to his chest.

“Perhaps, but perhaps I would,” replied Specter, leaning casually on his scythe. Propeller’s expression under his helmet turned from a forced smile to an earnest grin, despite his distress. He knew his work on Specter would pay off!

“Spectyyyy? I’m done with my end! Er, uh, half?” 

Specter turned to face a short, cheerful young lady with green hair shuffling over to the two of them, a similar skull-like artifact in hand. “Ah, good,” he said, straightening up as she approached. “I’ve just got one more circle to draw out.”

“That’s what you think!” she returned. “You were taking a while, so… I drew out your last one for you!”

“What part of ‘team effort’ don’t you understand, Missy? I was on my way to do it just now!” insisted Specter. 

Missy shrugged. “Couldn’t help it, Specty! Can’t just leave something incomplete like that.”

“Hm, well… Thanks, I suppose,” muttered Specter. “My ‘expertise’ was briefly required by a more desperate party,” he mused, casting a glance Propeller’s way.

“Indeed, it was!” agreed Propeller, getting his blades going. “But I think I’ll be off now! Certainly, Tinker has been waiting very patiently for me…”

“You didn’t tell him where you’d be going?” asked Specter.

“Oh, no no! He knows I’m here,” Propeller reassured him, before remembering something. “Ah, say! Have you anything to tell me about the Enchantress? Tinker is under the impression I came here for tactical advice.”

Specter exhaled raggedly. “You can’t be serious... “

“Ohh, I know! I’ve got something!” chirped Missy. “She’s always dreadfully out of touch with her foes!”

“Hoh?” asked Propeller, turning his attention to the former acolyte. “What do you mean?”

“Well, she always seemed to have an idea in her head of what kind of people she was up against, and isn’t sure how to deal with it when they aren’t what she expected!” Missy elaborated. “I mean, she thought she had Plague Knight, no problem, and he ended up doing a real number on her! And then, of course, Shovel showed up right afterwards, when she was already weakened, and the rest was history!”

Specter nodded. “She has an arrogance about her. Thinks she can use whoever tries to cross her. And she does, but that too is a weakness. She could have taken down Plague, but she didn’t, because he was too useful an asset. Her desire to conserve and manipulate, rather than destroy outright, contributed greatly to her downfall.” He looked out over the trees, to where the bright pinkish beacon could just be seen near the silhouettes of the mountains in the distance. “All that remains to be seen is whether she learned anything from last time.”

“I see…” Propeller trailed off, trying his very best to seal all that away in his memory. “ _Merci beaucoup, monsieur!_ I am forever in your debt, for more reasons than one!”

“Yes, well, don’t mention it,” called Specter, watching Propeller take off into the sky. “And keep your head out of the clouds when it matters, you hear me?”

“Oh, dear Specter, you know that is quite impossible!” laughed Propeller, directing his course deeper into the valley.

Briefly, his positive attitude was stymied by the truthfulness of that statement. Tinker Knight was so single-minded, so focused, Propeller had a hard time keeping up with him even when unfettered by the disastrous mess of feelings he’d discovered earlier in the day. Among the tangle of surface-level worries, like what Propeller would do if Tinker struggled to reach a high place or made one of those grand sweeping gestures he only did when describing the most groundbreaking of ideas, a much less romantic one surfaced: Was he wrong to give in so much to his feelings? Really, the more Propeller allowed himself to think it over, he came to realize just how astronomically unlikely it was for Tinker to feel the same for him. 

Propeller pulled himself out of that state of mind as the Clockwork Tower grew closer from the distance. Unlikely? What a joke! He was a heartthrob, irresistible to all! Men and women alike envied Propeller’s suave, daring nature, and if he thought Tinker was any different just because he had inspired stronger feelings than the norm, he was sorely mistaken! 

Confident (for the moment) with the conclusions made in his small personal pep talk, Propeller soared on faster, and higher amongst the clouds on the way towards his industrious, and potentially unattainable colleague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! feels good to get into act two, and what a tumultuous act it will be... thanks again for your comments, kudos, and general support, and i'll see you all for the next chapter!


	7. None But Fools

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time it's tinker's turn to be a disaster... hope you all enjoy this one!

“And there we go. The spring should fix the trajectory and put more power behind the release.”

Tinker Knight leaned back from the blueprints he’d drawn up, allowing Plague Knight to more comfortably stick his beak in and take a closer look. “Oh, hee hee, how devious! Devious indeed!” he remarked, running a hand over some of the details and smudging the wet ink a little. “The way the lit fuse ignites the rest of the contraption is a nice touch!”

“Well, you said you wanted it as automatic as possible,” said Tinker, waving Plague’s hand away so the ink could dry properly. “The spring brings back the catapult, and when it settles back into the first position it ignites again.” He put a hand to the bottom of his mask thoughtfully. “Would have drawn up some kind of auto-refueling system too, with extra vats and bottles and whatnot, but I don’t think we have that much time.”

“A refueling system! An alluring prospect, hee hee… I’ll be sure to get back in touch about this project when all this nonsense with the Enchantress is over!” assured Plague, getting down off the extra stool Tinker had pulled out for him. 

“Sure thing… Shouldn’t take too long to install, but anything having to do with volatile substances will take a lot of trial and error to work,” Tinker explained. “And I try not to do trial runs and active use simultaneously.” 

“Hee hee, of course! The last time you tried that, you got your bell rung by a gardening tool!” giggled Plague, poking one of the bolts at the side of Tinker’s mask.

Tinker couldn’t help but bristle a little. “As did you,” he reminded Plague, yet again waving his hand away. “And I didn’t ‘try’ anything, at least I didn’t plan to. How was I supposed to know that blue-clad tin can was just going to bust in unannounced?” 

“Tinker, Tinker, you can’t plan every little thing!” Plague insisted with a shrug. “And, hee hee, you can’t expect everyone else to be as horribly careful as you! I’m sure not!”

“You don’t have to remind me,” muttered Tinker, casting a long glance at his workshop door as he fanned the blueprints. “Hm, speaking of being reckless…”

Plague shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you expected him to be on time! Even in the Order, hee, he’d show up just as late as I did!”

“Well, this isn’t the Order,” said Tinker, crossing his arms. “I’d think even he would know the gravity of a situation like this.”

“Hee hee, and I’d think you’re sorely mistaken! I’d be surprised if Propeller even knew the meaning of gravity!” giggled Plague, tossing a half-empty flask in his hand. “Where did he say he had to go, again?”

Tinker suppressed an exasperated sigh. “He said he was going to Specter, to ‘ask about strategies’ when it comes to the Enchantress,” he explained, making air-quotes with his gloved fingers. “A task I would estimate to take around thirty minutes, including travel time. Not over an hour, that’s for sure.”

Plague hummed thoughtfully, looking in the same direction as Tinker as if to try and understand what was so interesting about the closed metal door. “So, you think he got a little sidetracked, then?” he guessed, leaning on the workbench.

Tinker huffed, and finally convinced himself to fully tear his eyes away from the door. “Well, just between you and I, I’m not convinced he went off with the intention of strategizing in the first place.” He hadn’t believed Propeller Knight for a second, which was even stranger. Usually the man was at least a half-decent liar.

Plague tapped his beak, looking slightly lost before snapping his fingers in realization. “Hee hee! You think they’re having some kind of affair!”

Tinker flinched, and scoffed again. “Well, when you put it so eloquently…”

“Oh, and you could be right! It’s just like Propeller, too, to ignore orders for something like that,” Plague mused, swishing around an unknown elixir in the flask.

“I didn’t order him!” Tinker snapped, an idle irritation suddenly sputtering into motion as he got off his stool. “Shield did! And even then, he’s seemed perfectly content with dragging me over to work on his ship before. He’s chosen a fine time to suddenly decide he’d rather go off and waste his time than work with me…”

“Mhmm, yes…” Plague murmured, watching Tinker start pacing along the brick floor. Tinker was too frustrated to get worked up over the underlying sauce in the alchemist’s tone of voice. “And why can’t you just draw something up and get to work without Propeller, again?” 

“Well, yes, that would be easy, wouldn’t it?” groused Tinker. “Until, of course, he gets in a tizzy about the feng shui of his ship, whatever that’s supposed to mean, and demands I reinstall half my machinery in a way he doesn’t find too ‘rustic’ or ‘industrialized’!” He gesticulated accordingly in his discontent.

“Hee hee, but why would that stop you?” asked Plague, pointing matter-of-factly. “Your whole tower is rustic and industrialized, and you’re always the last to listen when anyone calls it an eyesore!”

“I-I…” Tinker stumbled over his words for a moment, unable to find an answer. “I just don’t want him to go ballistic over it! He’s impossible when he gets all sensitive, a-and snobby about appearances…”

Plague laughed aloud. “Don’t think you can fool me! You haven’t a clue!” He rushed to catch up with Tinker as he continued to pace. “Ohhh, unless… Hee hee hee, unless you do! When was the last time you bent to the whims of someone else just because they got difficult when you didn’t give them what they wanted?”

“The Enchantress,” Tinker answered without missing a beat. Their conversation was starting to give him a headache. Unfortunately Plague only scoffed at his answer.

“That’s cheating! Propeller couldn’t measure up to her if he tried!” Plague crowed with a dismissive hand-wave.

“But he is a better man than the Enchantress was, by a mile,” asserted Tinker without thinking. 

“Oh, hee hee, is he now?” asked Plague, and Tinker already deeply regretted letting that sentence out. “And how’s that?”

“Well, I…” Tinker crossed his arms again. “I do respect his judgement, from time to time. He might be impulsive, and reckless, but I’ve since come to understand at least a little why he always leaves so much room for risk.”

“And…?” prompted Plague, leaning over Tinker as much as he could with his four or five inches of height advantage. 

Tinker curled his gloved hands into fists and irritably met Plague’s expectant gaze. “And, what with all the praises he sings of my work and character every time he saunters into my life, I expected him to respect me, er, my judgement enough to show up on time instead of…spending precious time with someone else!” he seethed.

“Hey, eh, boss?” A cogslotter had appeared at the door. 

Tinker cleared his throat, realizing how high his temper had gotten. Why on earth had he said all that? “What is it?” he asked, trying to relax his tensed shoulders.

“I’ve got Propeller Knight here, sir. He’s here to work on the whole Enchantress defense scheme,” the cogslotter explained, opening the door a little wider to reveal Propeller just behind them. Tinker turned to face the door awkwardly, suddenly hyper-aware of his posture. He tried not to let himself wonder how much of all that Propeller had overheard. Sure, the grinding of all the tower’s gears combined was nearly completely muffled by his workshop’s walls, but -

“Ah, hee hee, would you look at this!” Plague exclaimed, scrambling over to the workbench. “I think the ink on these blueprints is just about dry.” He hastily rolled up the parchment and tucked it under his arm. “As always, can’t thank you enough for your engineering expertise, Tinker, hee hee!”

The alchemist rushed out of the workshop without another word, pushing past Propeller on his way out. Propeller looked after him a moment, seeming confused, but as usual seemed to brush it off quickly and strutted his way in. 

“Tinker, _mon ami!_ I hope I did not keep you waiting too long?” asked Propeller, looking down at the engineer with his hands on his hips. Professional, stay professional.

“No, not at all,” answered Tinker, turning away to shuffle back to his workbench. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re here now, at least.”

“Ah, come now, try to understand me, hm? Gathering crucial information takes more than one simple exchange!” Propeller asserted, effortlessly catching up with Tinker as he gestured self-righteously with one open hand. 

“I’m sure it does,” muttered Tinker, cutting a fresh length of parchment for blueprints. “And _did_ you learn anything of consequence?” There was probably a less contemptuous way to phrase that question, but Tinker had hardly considered it.

“Why, of course I did! _Dieu,_ to insinuate that I’m not the sort of man to go through with what he declares…” Propeller trailed off dramatically, punctuating the unfinished sentence with a chuckle. The fact that he was self-aware made it all the worse. Or better, Tinker couldn’t decide. And he didn’t have the time to. 

“Well?” he prompted, testing the nib of his pen on an unused scrap.

“Oh, I’ll tell you, of course! But, ah, I’d much rather hear your ideas first, hmm? Then I can use the knowledge I have gained to improve upon the existing perfection you’ve drawn up!” said Propeller, and there was no way that Tinker was hearing anything less than a wide, perhaps strained grin in his words. 

“Pouring it on a little thick,” he remarked dryly. “No matter how calculated or creative one’s mind is, a first draft is never perfect. Anyone who says otherwise is either a narcissist or an ignoramus.”

Propeller laughed again and hoisted himself up to sit on the workbench. “And, quite inconveniently, I must be both in equal amounts!”

Tinker sighed wearily. One of the most irritating lessons he’d learned from spending so much time with Propeller was that he wasn’t just boasting when he went on about how disarmingly likable he was. Not ten minutes following Propeller’s late arrival, Tinker already wished he could easily forget the suspiciously long stretch of time his colleague had just spent “strategizing” with Specter Knight.

“Anyway,” he stated, after a haphazard clearing of his throat. “Beyond a few thumbnails, I haven’t sketched up much. But I do have a list of ideas to reference as we go along.” He took out a long, thin wood dowel and pointed it to several smaller sheets of parchment pinned to the cork board above the workbench. 

“Hoh, quite a list!” Propeller remarked, leaning in to read Tinker’s clustered capital-letter handwriting. 

“It’s less than it looks,” said Tinker. “I’ve already vetoed over half the list for one reason or another.” He pointed to one of the sketchy thumbnails on the board. “If we’re to provide air support, we’ll need to cover our allies from all directions. Of course, that means the flying machine’s weapons need to cover a wider radius. What you see here is a simple but elegant design for a spread-shot cannon, six simultaneous rounds fired outward in separate directions. Five possible angles at which to aim, and reloading is short.” He pointed to a small note. “Each round is one harpoon-like cluster that’s split into six smaller components when the firing sequence is initiated.”

Propeller nodded half-attentively. “ _Oui,_ I see, it’s certainly practical, but -”

“And if that’s too much, this one’s more subtle,” Tinker continued on, pointing to another item on the list. “It’s a round that homes in on a target. It seeks a kind of movement, and when fired it will fly to defend against an active threat, rather than flying free to whatever it happens to hit.”

“Ah, quite an innovation, yet -”

“I did not forget about your pilots, either, they’ll need armaments too. I can make some tweaks to the Dinghy Dropper’s weapons system and create more aerodynamic explosives, Plague can provide the substances for those -”

“Tinker!” interrupted Propeller, catching the dowel in his hand. “Slow down, won’t you?”

Tinker tensed, glad Propeller couldn’t see his face contort as he made an effort not to lose purchase of his temper again. “If you have questions, I ask that you keep them until I’ve gone down the list.”

“Well, you skipped over some of the ideas!” Propeller said, pointing to a few near the top of the list. 

“I told you, I nixed a few of the worst ones before you showed up,” said Tinker dismissively. 

“Worst? _Je crois que non!_ What about this one at the top? ‘Gyroscopic intelligent autopilot?’” he read, pointing it out. 

Tinker sighed, shoulders sagging exhaustedly. “That one’s off the table for a reason. It would be far-fetched even under better circumstances.”

“And? What is it?” asked Propeller. “You wouldn’t turn down this curious face, would you?” He framed his helmet frivolously with the back of one hand, as if whatever face was under it wasn’t completely obscured as usual. Now was really not the time for him to act this way, Tinker wanted to say. Such a distraction.

“Put simply, it’s a flying weapon system that moves and fires autonomously. No switchboard, no live controller needed to keep track of them. They’re programmed, of course, their inner workings shift and function depending on the interpreted situation they’re faced with… Ideally, anyway,” Tinker explained shortly. “Now let’s move on.”

“But that’s a wonderful idea!” Propeller exclaimed. Of course he did. 

“It’s folly, is what it is,” insisted Tinker. “It’s full automation, a weapon of mass destruction with artificial intelligence. None of that ever goes well, too unpredictable.”

“Ah, and that’s what we need! It’s much more your style, to do what is least expected!” said Propeller, gesturing grandly with one outstretched arm.

“That’s not the kind of unpredictable I mean,” Tinker groaned, snatching the dowel back from Propeller. “Left to their own devices, automatons get unmanageable. Their programming sequences get warped, they start doing the wrong thing, and the cleanup is a pain.”

“Yeeees, but this does not sound the same as what you’ve told me about before!” urged Propeller, poking Tinker teasingly in the chest. Tinker flinched as if Propeller had given him a static shock. “They aren’t little metal workers, just ships without pilots!”

“I-It’s not worth the trouble, okay? Sure, they cover more ground overall, but compared to the many other things I could build, the whole concept is ridiculous!” said Tinker, batting Propeller’s hand away. He drew his hand back, looking surprisingly taken aback by the gesture. 

“But Tinker, just because something is ridiculous, that does not mean it isn’t a good idea! Many of your finest creations would have been completely unfathomable if you hadn’t the _ingénieux_ to bring them to life!” Propeller insisted. 

“Sure, there’s the tank that never works as intended, and the tower that’s never fully in use anymore!” returned Tinker, beginning to lose his patience. “Certainly, failure is a natural part of the scientific method, but when you’re known for naught but silly ideas with mixed results you begin to know the cost of failure!”

Propeller’s shoulders dropped a little. “But Tinker, there’s no need to worry! All this on the horizon, it’s hardly a threat, it doesn’t matter if -”

“Despite the fact that every machine in the factory is running at any given time, only a quarter of it is ever performing its intended function! Only a select few assembly lines are required, and they’re required to assemble toys,” Tinker explained through clenched teeth. “I could shut off what isn’t needed, let the gears and shafts rest and rust, but I haven’t! I… I refuse,” he muttered, losing steam as it occurred to him that he was getting off-topic. 

But Propeller said nothing in response, and the thick silence was too uncomfortable to leave alone. “I haven’t had any work in progress outside of the toys, and hired maintenance. The last thing I tweaked and fixed up that wasn’t a catapult or a ship engine was that blasted mechanical mirror,” Tinker griped flatly, crossing his arms. “I was so desperate to work on something new, anything, that I didn’t think for a moment of what I was enabling. As if my reputation wasn’t deteriorated enough, I am this close to being responsible for a completely preventable hostile takeover of the entire valley!”

“But, if you just build what anyone would least suspect, no matter the risk, Specter and the others said -”

“I don’t care what Specter and the others said, if they even said anything at all,” Tinker interrupted, walking irritably over to where Propeller was sitting. “I can no longer afford to take risks, big or small. These ideas I told you about, I can be certain they’ll work as intended, I can be sure they’ll prove that I’m more than just some...crackpot inventor with his head in the clouds!”

Too late Tinker Knight realized how much he’d raised his voice, and how tightly he’d balled his fists. His last words echoed off the walls for a second or two before the grinding of his idle machines took center stage in the background once more. With his shoulders raised and hands tense on his knees, Propeller looked to be, for once, at a loss for words. Feeling his face get hot with embarrassment, Tinker quickly turned his back on his colleague. So much for acting professional.

“I’ll just pick the most efficient idea from the list myself,” he concluded flatly, folding his arms behind his back. “I’m certain we can work out a design that satisfies the vision you have for your ship, and…” He trailed off, exhausted. 

Tinker could feel Propeller’s eyes on him as he dropped off the bench and onto his stool, hunched over in preparation to draw up a new blueprint. The silence persisted between them as Tinker’s quill scratched over the parchment, and Tinker feared he’d make an inkblot or break a nib if Propeller didn’t get the hint and leave soon.

Thankfully, social cues were one of the few things to which Propeller Knight allocated his intelligence, and soon Tinker could hear the shuffling and footfalls of Propeller pushing himself off the bench and onto the shop floor. The expected lightweight taps of Propeller’s receding footsteps did not follow right away, however. Instead Tinker faintly felt the weight of a gloved hand alighting on his left shoulder pauldron, making him nearly drop his quill.

“I’ll return in an hour or two, _oui?_ Or, you could send a message up to the flying machine when you are ready for me again,” said Propeller, voice still upbeat, but quieter now. Tinker nodded, and tried to keep working with Propeller leaning in so close.

After an apparent moment of thought, Propeller spoke again. “Tinker, when we were in the Order, when you fixed my ship, when you...turned on that strange mirror, I never saw you as only a man with odd ideas. You’ve made so many marvelous things, even those you consider flawed, or silly…”

Tinker sighed. “I know. I know.” He hated that Propeller apparently felt he had to say that. He jumped again slightly when Propeller patted his pauldron reassuringly.

“Ah, I thought so, but I was not sure if it was the right thing to think. You’ve never said any of that to me before, you know?” Tinker’s shoulders sagged. Oh, he knew. 

“In any case, I think I will leave you to your own devices, now,” Propeller concluded, with an oddly anxious chuckle at his own joke as he straightened up. “I am at your beck and call if you need me!”

It was then that Tinker finally heard light, receding footsteps, and at the closing of the workshop door he lay down his quill and sat with a groan, shoving both hands under his mask in an attempt to violently squeeze away the astronomical residual embarrassment he was feeling. Certainly, Propeller hadn’t been taking anything very seriously, but there were ways to express the gravity of the situation without vocalizing nearly every negative thought in his head at the same time. Tinker had always trusted himself, justifiably, to keep his personal shortcomings to himself. Even with Propeller, when he got Tinker going about some project he’d done, Tinker could easily talk and talk without touching anything too deep. But just now, when the chips were down, it had all just sputtered out of him, and he had no idea why he’d kept going.

But of course, there was an obvious answer to that. As Tinker readjusted his mask and stood back up on his stool to get back to work, the answer came quite effortlessly. Tinker confided in Propeller, evidently more than he had thought. And tonight, after all Propeller’s talk of wishing to see more of Tinker than his skill and work ethic, Tinker had trusted him with knowing a side that he definitely couldn’t have been eager to see. 

And, though Tinker Knight did not have the time to think all of that through much further at the moment, it did not escape him that the manner in which Propeller received his outburst was far from the devastation he had so inexplicably feared. 

With every stroke of the quill, Tinker’s worries gradually began to simmer down. Perhaps, Propeller’s voice insisted in his mind, the coming days wouldn’t be quite so hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! i'll see you all next time for a (probably) longer and (definitely) more actiony hunk of words! 
> 
> P.S. as always, your support means the world to me to see (thanks for 300 hits!!)


	8. One Step Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand since i'm back in school, this one took ages for me to get to. sorry about that! nevertheless, i hope this one is worth the wait for you all ^^ i don't usually have much luck with eighth chapters (very specific complication, i know) but i'm pretty pleased with how it turned out here!

“And I understand why he must concentrate, and how I might get in the way of such an endeavor, but I’m not certain why he’s withdrawn quite so much! Was it something I did, or said? Well, surely it was, but I do think he’s overreacting if it’s what I think it is that bothered him so -”

“Don’t you have a job to do?”

Specter Knight pushed Propeller off of his shoulder, where he’d been progressively leaning more and more over the course of the past few minutes. “If you don’t, I do, and you’re in the way.”

Propeller Knight regained his balance, brushing off his jacket as he shook his head forlornly. “I have a job when dear Tinker says I do… And besides, I heard you were in town at the Outpost to set up your defenses! We were already in the neighborhood, stopping by the Lost City for exchange of raw materials -”

“And, you ditched him again, if I understand correctly,” Specter cut in dryly. 

Propeller crossed his arms as he followed Specter along the outpost wall, where various sigils and magic objects had been drawn or mounted. “I did not! I told him where I was going, and I told him why! And he allowed it, if not begrudgingly…”

“You didn’t think maybe that was some kind of signal?” asked Specter incredulously. “He might be acting difficult, but that doesn’t mean he has no place or need for you.”

“Ohoh, like you, _monsieur?_ ” joked Propeller, lingering as they started to pass by an inn. 

Specter sighed and hung back too, eventually following him in. “No, not like me. I’m not the one clearly trying to overcompensate for one small mistake. I’m not sure who he thinks he’s fooling, being worried under the guise of caring for the fate of the valley.”

“I am certain he means to do the right thing, of course! He cares for the valley, and those in it, he just seems…well, a little lost, I suppose,” concluded Propeller, procuring a small corked canteen as he approached the bar. “And who better to help him find his way than moi, hmm?”

Specter scoffed. “Makes perfect sense to me… What’s the canteen for, by the way? Drinking away your feelings, this early in the day?”

“ _Que c’est ridicule,_ Specter!” laughed Propeller, snapping his fingers to summon the barkeep. “Could you even guess how long Tinker’s been working without food or drink? _Garçon,_ fill it with water,” he ordered the barkeep offhandedly, dropping a small sachet of gold on the tabletop. The beefy man behind the counter swiped the gold and the canteen and turned his back, gruffly griping about stuck-up knights and ordering water at a bar.

“Well, color me shocked, I didn’t realize you came over to the outpost for a real reason,” Specter remarked, leaning on his scythe. 

“Of course I did!” exclaimed Propeller, puffing out his chest self-righteously. “If I cannot tell him how I feel just yet, I might as well show him, no?”

“What, by just getting him a drink?”

“Hoh, ye of little faith! That’s not all,” Propeller chided, swiping the canteen from the barkeep as soon as he brought it back. “If you would just follow me…”

A couple minutes later he and Specter stood before the local bakery, the latter looking thus far nonplussed. Propeller, however, remained standing tall, energized by what he had planned. 

“You see, Specter, months ago, while Tinker was improving the structural integrity of my flying machine’s hull, one of my crew returned to the ship with a bag of assorted pastries!” Propeller explained, holding the door for a continually incredulous Specter. “You know, rolls, muffins, tarts, that sort of thing. I’ve never quite cared as much for the desserts of this land, they’re quite simple in comparison to those of my home…. I often wish I had learned to bake them myself, now that I seem to be staying here for longer than expected, but anyway!”  
He cut his tangent short, confronted with the questioning visage of the baker’s assistant behind the counter. He pointed to a scone on a display platter enthusiastically. “So, because he was working so hard, of course, I offered him a choice of pastry, and what does he pick?”

“A scone?” guessed Specter in a flat tone as he watched Propeller trade another small sachet of gold for the scone.

“ _Exactement_ , a scone! He reached for it immediately!” affirmed Propeller proudly, giving the baker’s assistant a quick salute as he swiveled on his heel and made to exit. “How lucky it is for me, that Tinker’s so obvious about what he likes…” he trailed off with a chuckle.

“Seems you’ve gotten over...whatever it was that was wrong a couple days ago,” Specter observed, keeping pace with Propeller’s long, confident strides. “Unless, perchance, you’re just hiding it better?”

That gave Propeller brief pause. He supposed he _was_ acting rather jovial, considering what he had learned a couple days back. “Well, what Tinker said did give me much to think about, of course,” he said, slowing down a little. “I hadn’t considered that he… What he told me,” he stumbled a little, tripping over his words trying to keep what he’d learned to himself.

“Mhm… Which you’re still not going to elaborate on, is that right, Mister Gossip?” prompted Specter, earning a laugh from Propeller. He greatly enjoyed it when Specter tried his hand at humor. There was hope for him yet!

“Of course not! Because after whiling away an hour or several in misery, it occurred to me that I may be one of the only people he’s ever trusted with his personal woes. And, well, I haven’t a clue why, but nevertheless it makes me feel a little closer to him!” Propeller concluded, unable to stop himself from smiling. It was too strange a thing to admit aloud, but he was also enjoying feeling truly romantic for the first time in awhile. Even if now wasn’t exactly the time to express those feelings.

“Well, who knows… Maybe he’s got feelings for you, too,” Specter mused, a smirk shaping his words.

“ _Dieu_ , don’t play with my heart!” Propeller sighed dramatically, pushing Specter’s shoulder in jest. “I don’t even know how I would begin to charm him… He seems to always see right through my usual act!”

“Then...don’t act?” suggested Specter, rubbing his shoulder in annoyance. “Well, later, of course. For now, I imagine being yourself would entail a bold-faced confession and an invitation to dinner.”

“Ah, you’re more a friend than ever before, knowing me so well!” Propeller confirmed with a sad shake of his head. “Then again, I imagine a hopeless romantic like myself is very easy to read. If only Tinker was so simple…”

“Mhm. Well, I’ll leave you to your...business,” said Specter, stopping as they reached the entrance. “As much as I’d like to see this apparent disaster of a partnership with my own eyes, I’ve still got defenses to set up.”

“Come now, you cannot leave any work of yours to one of your eager companions?” asked Propeller, tucking away the canteen and pastry before switching on his propeller. 

“No I can’t, as a matter of fact,” insisted Specter, arms firmly crossed. “But, once we’re done here, we have work to do on the Hall of Champions, too. If I can finish up early there… I’ll think about stopping by Tinker’s tower.”

“Hoh, there we are! I knew you would come through, _mon bon ami!_ ” cheered Propeller, taking off and lingering a few feet from the ground as he and Specter parted ways.

“Don’t get used to it,” Specter warned as he summoned his scythe, though there was a delightful note of sass in his voice. “Someone’s got to ensure you don’t make a fool of yourself, and Tinker seems compromised at the moment.”

=======

“No, no, load it slow! If you warp the structural integrity, the ammunition could backfire in the barrel!”

Propeller glided into the spacious front cavern of the Lost City just in time to hear Tinker Knight’s small but sturdy voice echoing commands off the walls at a selected force of Mole Knight’s strange masked employees. He’d always found it amusing to watch Tinker order around his own underlings, many of whom were at least twice his height, and the effect of observing the same relationship here was even greater. When it came to Mole’s minions, Tinker didn’t even clear their knees in most cases. Nevertheless, all three present dutifully adjusted their pace in handling and loading the long metal tubes Tinker had requested onto Propeller’s flying machine, parked just outside.

“The make of the barrels does look sound,” he heard Tinker mention to Mole, who stood just beside him supervising the shipment. “It’s just that it will be used in a complex piece of machinery. I trust in the quality of your forges and furnaces, but even the best-crafted parts can defect.”

“Pshaw, it’ll be fine,” Mole insisted, with a dismissive wave of his claws. “Since you fixed up the magma furnace, I haven’t had a defective part come out in months. And my guys are big, sure, but they’re delicate, if y’know what I mean.”

“I do, of course,” assured Tinker, hands on his hips as he turned his head back to watch a new barrel of burnished brass be hauled out of the City’s depths. “But if a part does not fit or do its job, I don’t have time to send it back.”

“Tinker, partner mine, I have returned!” announced Propeller, descending a couple feet away from the other two knights with a flourish. “I hope I have not missed anything, hm?”

Tinker turned to face him fully. “Not much, no. We’ve just been loading the parts for the cannons. They’ll be assembled back at the tower.” He was on his mobile gear, and thus presently came up to Propeller’s shoulder rather than his thigh. Confronted with his mask being significantly closer than usual, Propeller felt his composure waver a moment. Though not uncommon in his and Tinker’s interactions, those brief changes in their spatial relationship had come to be far more distracting as of late.

“Wonderful, wonderful! Will we be returning soon, or shall I remain here a little longer?” asked Propeller, looking off at the open bay doors of his ship. 

Tinker shrugged. “You can be wherever you want, as long as it’s not in the way. You might want to check your cargo bay, though, to ensure that all parts are secured. Most of the parts have been loaded already, so a head start on the safety check would be ideal.”

So, not wherever he wanted, then. Propeller cracked a smirk under his helmet. How very like Tinker, to find a place for everything. “Understood, _monsieur!_ I’ll take my leave,” declared Propeller with a sweeping bow. “But, before I do, I must deliver what I acquired in my little excursion to the outpost.”

Already halfway through returning to his business with Mole, Tinker turned back towards Propeller. “Eh? What do you mean?”

“Ohoh, piqued your interest, have I? If you’ll just give me a moment…” Propeller trailed off, digging through his jacket and emphatically pulling out the canteen of water and the wax-wrapped scone. “ _Et voilá!_ To my recollection, it’s been some hours since you last had any food or drink in you…”

Tinker took a step back on his gear, seeming mildly surprised. “Eh, I… Huh,” he struggled to reply, rolling closer to inspect Propeller’s offering. He took the canteen by the side Propeller wasn’t holding. “What did you put in it?”

“Only water, of course!” answered Propeller proudly. Tinker hummed thoughtfully, probably recalling all the times he’d quizzically asked Propeller how he captained a ship with so much alcohol in his system. So many times that Propeller would have been a fool not to gather that Tinker didn’t touch the stuff when at work.

Slipping the canteen into one of his apron pockets, Tinker then reached for the wrapped pastry. Unlike the canteen, it was too small for him to deftly avoid contact with Propeller’s hand, and their fingers brushed against each other a moment as he took it. Difficult as it was, Propeller managed to ignore the brief rush of warmth in his chest and focus on Tinker’s reaction. 

“Oh!” he said as he peeled back the wrapping, his serious tone of voice turning fleetingly pleasant. “A scone…”

“ _Oui,_ I had an inkling you might like one, no?” asked Propeller, striking a confident stance as the energy building up within him refused to allow a second more of standing still.

In the time since Propeller’s purchases had traded hands, Mole Knight had made his way over to where they were. “Oh man, that looks freshly baked,” he observed, craning his neck to get a closer look before turning his head up to Propeller. “I could’ve gone for a jelly doughnut, y’know? Those are my favorites…”

“Well, you didn’t ask, did you?” Propeller pointed out, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Hey, neither did Tinker, apparently,” returned Mole, hitching a thumb at the engineer. He had Propeller there.

“Hoh, then you ought to get an attentive partner for yourself!” Propeller said slyly, deflecting the complication. “It’s a surprise you don’t, what with your elegant communication skills…”

Mole curled his claws into fists. “It’s not like I’ve never had one before! He’s just not allowed down here anymore, not after he dropped me for bringing my moles onto that floating brass jalopy of his…”

Propeller chose to ignore the decidedly non-professional partnership Mole had started going on about, and turned his attention back to Tinker Knight. “So, off I go, then! I imagine I’ll receive the proper signal when it’s time to haul everything back to the tower?”

Tinker seemed not to hear him at first, lost in some train of thought of his, but eventually snapped back to attention. “Oh, eh...yes,” he stammered, reaching one hand back to rub at his neck. “I think I’ll come with you, actually. The heat in this cave must be getting to me, I can hardly think straight…”

“Ah, together we’ll go, then!” Propeller declared, beginning to turn on his heel. He didn’t think the cavern was particularly hot, considering its wide gates were currently open to the elements, but he supposed Tinker had been in there a bit longer than him. The engineer in question rolled up beside him, keeping pace without a single overexerted huff thanks to his gear.

As they walked and rolled respectively across the cavern floor, Propeller kept a close eye on Tinker in case the heat was getting to him more than he had implied. Once Tinker noticed he was being watched, he hastily averted his eyes. That was how he had been the past few days, very avoidant. Propeller found this curious, as Tinker was usually at least in the mood to ramble about his work, no matter how busy he was. Prompting him never hurt, Propeller supposed.

“So, what all is being loaded?” asked Propeller. “If I recall correctly, an amount of the necessary parts have already been manufactured in-house.”

“Mhm, that’s right,” said Tinker, uncorking the canteen and tilting up his mask to drink from it. Well, that was one way to make sure he wasn’t stared at, Propeller thought as he quickly fixed his gaze on the path ahead of them. “My assembly lines can synthesize gears and shafts like no one’s business, what with how often we need them. But for barrels and ammunition, it’s more efficient right now for the raw materials to be smelted at the source.”

Propeller nodded. “Of course, of course! I should have guessed it, you’re always so good with making use of your allies’ strengths.” He hoped it didn’t sound like he was gushing too much. Tinker didn’t answer for a moment, and Propeller wondered if he was simply taking a long drink. He certainly wasn’t going to risk checking.

“Eh, that’s why it pays to keep a lot of allies,” he finally said. “Of course, every now and then there’s a bridge that must be burned…”

“Hoh, and you have experience with that, do you?” asked Propeller, a smirk forming his words. Tinker’s work had to be taking a toll on him if he was exposing some mysterious history of his, if only vaguely.

Tinker huffed indifferently, and Propeller could hear him sticking the cork back in the canteen. “Doesn’t matter, now. It was a long time ago.” His gear hit the base of the ramp up to the cargo bay, and he dismounted to put it away. “Let’s go make sure the parts are all secured.”

“Ah, whatever you say, little _monsieur,_ ” conceded Propeller with a chuckle. It was worth a try. Tinker paused in his advance a moment, then shook his head derisively and started unwrapping the scone, muttering something about thinking on an empty stomach. 

=======

It didn’t end up taking particularly long to set up for assembly on the flying machine. As soon as the ship touched down in the tower’s makeshift hangar, the cogslotters began filing out with their tools and crates of gears and bolts as if rehearsed.   
Tinker Knight shuffled down off the boarding ramp with Propeller closely in tow and stopped by his workshop to gather up blueprints of various facets of the greater machine he’d been planning. A few scrolls of parchment and folded easels were pushed into Propeller’s arms, followed by stiff handwaves and pointing from Tinker as they made their way back to the hangar to display the blueprints for the cogslotters on staff.   
Now that the scone had been swiftly polished off on the flight back, Tinker’s piping yet professional voice barked out orders all the more forcefully as he made his rounds on the mobile gear. Though Tinker’s workers were only the most reliable of candidates, an adage Propeller Knight had heard many times, he never fully trusted their eyes for detail. No matter how impeccable their work appeared, it wouldn’t pass without inspection from the man in charge.

Tinker was more frenetic and busy than Propeller had seen him in months, but he was undoubtedly in much better shape than he’d been a couple days ago. Besides, seeing Tinker so authoritative and headstrong was a delight, even more so now that Propeller had a better handle on his own feelings. It wasn’t long before he found himself leaning languidly against the brick wall of the hangar, smiling dreamily under his helmet as he watched the engineer do what he did best. If the subject of Tinker’s determination was more his usual innovative fare rather than the impressive but practical plan he’d gone with, Propeller was sure he’d be in heaven.

“The supervisor, I assume?”

Propeller Knight had been so lost in observing Tinker that the sudden dull rattle of Specter Knight’s voice made him jump. He turned sheepishly to face his grim companion, idly glad no one could see just how red his face probably was. 

“Well, someone’s got to, you know? Especially when dear Tinker has been too preoccupied to appoint one officially,” he pointed out, rearranging his posture to be a little more saucy than hopelessly lovestruck. 

Specter had his arms crossed, but by how he was leaning his weight it was clear he was amused. “I don’t think he’d pick you for the job otherwise, considering you’re only interested in supervising one man. Personal bodyguard may be a more suitable position for you.”

“Ohoh, now that sounds positively tantalizing!” remarked Propeller with a suggestive wag of his finger. “I can see the story now… Growing closer through the necessity of protection, learning each other’s closest secrets in the name of guarding said secrets, tragically splitting as we realize what we have can never be, if we are to remain intertwined professionally -”

“Propeller!” 

This time Propeller just about jumped a foot off the floor, as Tinker’s commanding tenor rather suddenly beckoned him. He turned around fast at attention, nearly whacking Specter’s grill with one of the handles on his helmet. “ _Oui, mon supérieur!_ ” he answered, half-joking. He heard Specter’s raspy snicker behind him.

Tinker raised his thumb and forefinger to the front of his mask, as if trying in vain to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Don’t call me… Eh, anyway. Come on, there’s a project I have to show you.”

“Hoh, another project!” remarked Propeller, following as Tinker rolled out of the hangar on his gear. “I’ve not even heard of this one… Come, Specter, I’m sure it’s quite impressive!”

Specter shook his head and followed Propeller, dismissing his scythe with a wave of his hand. “The man’s crazy, going this far beyond what’s expected of him… He must really be eager to make up for his mistake.”

“Aha, perhaps…” Propeller trailed off, inwardly cursing. Even without having the beans spilled about his and Tinker’s conversation, Specter was guessing its contents fairly effortlessly.

Tinker hadn’t waited up for them much, but they found him standing expectantly on the large balcony near his workshop once they exited the tower. Or, platform, Propeller corrected himself. He’d convince Tinker to install an aesthetic railing along its perimeter one of these days. 

Behind Tinker was a tall coil-like machine with various antennae reaching out towards the sky in many directions. At about his height (at least, whilst standing atop the mobile gear) there was a massive board of switches, buttons, levers, and knobs, a convoluted mess that no doubt controlled the machine, whatever its purpose was.

“Must have been a pain to get that thing outside,” mused Specter, looking it up and down.

Tinker’s mask turned to Specter, as if only now noticing him. “Oh, you brought him with you,” he muttered, before waving his hand dismissively. “Whatever, he can watch too.”

“Huh?” asked Specter. “What do you -”

“This is a device I’ve designed to intercept and partially disable the Enchantress’s newer forces,” Tinker continued, ignoring Specter as he gestured to the console before him. “Based on what we’ve been observing, it would seem she is no longer employing magic alone.”

“That’s right,” said Specter. “When we were hunting down that thing the mirror created, it was partially mechanical.”

“Right,” Tinker affirmed, a strange note of irritation in his voice. “And as a few of us have observed in reconnaissance over the past couple of days, that mechanical mirror has been reassembled off at the tower.” He pointed a finger out at the mountain pass in the distance, towards the source of the magenta beacon that had been coloring the sky. The Tower had been slowly but surely reassembling itself since the beacon appeared, and though it was rather far in the distance at the moment, a blinding white uneven aperture could be made out at the top of the edifice. With a good telescope, one would be able to discern the rickety metal frame of the mirror Tinker had unwittingly assembled several nights ago. 

“Also, the new liquid samurai specimens intercepted by Plague and Mona confirm that the Enchantress’s new creations bear mechanical parts and cores not unlike the mirror,” Tinker continued. “These parts and cores are loosely assembled and unstable, as the Enchantress apparently doesn’t have a proper engineer on staff, but seeing as she’s continuing with this half-mechanical assembly process, I’d surmise she’s beginning to understand the advantage of having more than just magic under her control.”

Propeller Knight nodded along, enraptured as always by Tinker’s sudden verbosity whenever he explained what was on his mind. “So, you have built this to combat her mechanical monstrosities, then?”

Tinker nodded. “Though electromagnetic pulses and waves, this conductive coil transmits recursive closed-circuit programming entered into the switchboard and will interfere with the dispersal of power between the engines and constituents of the Enchantress’s magi-mechanical creations...within a certain radius, of course,” he added, pointing to a large dial with numbers engraved in the metal plate it was situated within. 

“It seems a little complicated just for a gadget that breaks other gadgets from far away,” Specter observed, partially reading Propeller’s mind. Of course, he always got lost whenever Tinker went fully technical with his vocabulary.

Again, Tinker looked mildly annoyed as he folded his arms across his chest. “Putting it that way minimizes its complexity in more ways than I can efficiently quantify. Transmitting any kind of process wirelessly takes the utmost caution and decisiveness, not to mention all the trial and error. Besides, if anyone besides me happens to require this machine’s services, I wrote out its every function and control in a manuscript, right here,” he pointed out, gesturing to a small drawer about the width of a textbook under the console.

“In that case, it’s hard to believe you had much time for trial and error,” replied Specter, crossing his arms as well. “I mean no disrespect, but are you certain this machine will do its job as it’s supposed to when the time comes?”

“Mean no disrespect…” Propeller barely heard Tinker mutter under his breath, and he got the feeling the inventor was trying to get a tighter leash on his temper. “It will certainly turn out more effective than the magical defenses we’ve had set up, especially when the Enchantress learns to make the magic and mechanical components of her creations equally autonomous.”

“Mhm…” Specter muttered after a thoughtful pause, and Propeller could imagine him quirking an eyebrow under his grill. If he even had eyebrows. “Well, why don’t you test your hypothesis right now? There’s a perfectly viable candidate just out there.”

He gestured out towards the middle distance, where one of the Enchantress’s newly-designed flying scouts hovered observantly. Based on Mona’s studies, they’d turned out to be modified flareys, the explosive charge at their core fueling a pair of propellers that switched on and off, allowing the usually aimless creature to attempt a more deliberate path of locomotion. As if brought to attention by Specter’s suggestion it turned it’s now scrap-plated face towards them, more curious than aggressive. With their modifications, it seemed these particular creatures no longer possessed offensive capabilities.

“Not a problem,” Tinker declared flatly, turning to his crowded control panel. He seized the large knob with the numbers and turned it all the way up. Evidently his target was right on the edge of the machine’s radius. Switches were flipped at a faster rate than Propeller could follow, and the central coil hummed to life as Tinker pulled down a large lever to his left. Electricity crackled gold and blue between the coil and the antennae around it, and Specter took a cautious step away. Even though Propeller was sure Tinker had insulated the coil from the rest of the metal in the device, he couldn’t blame the instinct to retreat to a slightly safer distance. 

“Hm,” huffed Tinker, looking out at the modified flarey. “It should have gone down by now, or at least deviated from its path.”

“Perhaps your pulse isn’t strong enough?” called Specter from where he’d relocated to several feet back.

For a split second, Tinker fairly convulsed before fiddling irritably with more switches and knobs. “No, that’s ridiculous! I’ve seen that thing’s makeup, it’s as simplistic as they come…”

As he neurotically attempted to logic his way around the challenge his seemingly harmless subject was posing to him, the electric bolts between the coil and antennae grew brighter and less controlled, and Propeller couldn’t tell if that was Tinker’s doing. Another cursory glance at the flarey answered his question.

Its mouth was open wide, revealing neither teeth nor a tongue but an open dish of some kind, facing towards Tinker’s machine. As the dish-thing seemed to stop at the apex of its width, the crackling electricity above the control panel began to form the suggestion of a gaunt face, with long horns protruding out to each side from the top of it. Though Propeller admittedly hadn’t met much with the entity these features belonged to, they were hardly a challenge to recognize. 

“Tinker!” he called. “Watch out above you!”

“Eh?” Tinker looked up, and his shoulders tensed in surprise. “No, that’s… My calculations, they can’t be off -”   
A mangled voice crackled forth, seemingly from the machine itself. 

“ _Here he is, the architect of my tools of war…_ ” it mused, the mouth of its “face” moving in time with its words. “ _And yet, with all your best-laid plans… You did not consider the possibility that this device might transmit the will of a master on its receiving end?_ ”

Tinker finally took a step back, but before he could pull the lever to disable the machine’s power the wild electricity above him descended upon his arm. This time he really did convulse as it coursed up his shoulder and throughout the rest of his body. Frantic, Propeller rushed to grab his shirt and pull him away from the machine, but was met with a shock so strong it threw him down onto his back, stiff and wincing. As soon as he could move again, he sat up just in time to see Tinker disappear completely, leaving only the electricity behind. It crackled off the coil and into the sky, absorbed by the waiting flarey.   
Once no more of the blueish lightning remained, the small amalgamate turned to face the Tower of Fate, and whirred off in obedient silence.

Propeller’s heart still felt stopped as Specter offered his scythe to help him up, and though the latter remained stoic, Propeller could tell he was just as dumbfounded. Eventually they regained enough of their senses to very cautiously shut the machine off, and the hum of the coil gave way to thick, tense silence. 

Neither of them could take their eyes off of the Tower until Specter dully suggested they let the others know of the incident. It was impossible not to view the tables as having turned completely. Just as they had begun to plan their attack around the Enchantress’s lack of engineering proficiency, she had acquired a proper engineer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feels good to leave off on a proper cliffhanger for the first time in awhile! i'm pretty excited for where the story's gonna go from here, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that... 
> 
> in any case, hope you all enjoyed! thanks as always for your support (and almost 400 hits!!) and i'll see you in another week or two!


	9. A Short Circuit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waaaa this chapter took a long time! school's been kicking my butt lol; but this is a big one for feels, so i feel like it was pretty worth it. hope you all enjoy!!

Tinker Knight tapped the side of his mask irritably. He had no earthly idea what was wrong with him. 

The Enchantress’s instructions had been clear. Upon his abduction, he’d been summoned before the mirror he’d oh-so-clairvoyantly put back together a few days ago, which then spoke with a voice that almost, but not quite resembled that of his former employer. Evidently she’d been trapped in whatever amorphous proxy world the mirror led to. For a fleeting moment Tinker wondered if King Knight had known about that, when he secretly commissioned research on the artifact. Knowing King, the answer was obvious, but Tinker was nothing if not a thorough thinker. 

“ _Empower my forces. Use your so-called allies’ weaknesses against them. Build me a vessel with which I may carry out my grand design,_ ” she’d told him. That, and the usual mumbo-jumbo about how no one respected him, she was the only one who knew his potential, all nonsense. Tinker considered himself mature enough to know not to listen to such things, and besides, no amount of textbook manipulation could have distracted from the colossal shortsightedness the Enchantress has displayed in taking him. 

He was behind enemy lines now! In a prime position to analyze and exploit the Valley’s most formidable foe! And she expected him to build a working, effective physical form for her, without any catches in the design? Well, probably not, if Tinker used a bit of common sense, but he had a few tricks up his oversized sleeves. Tricks that would be all the more effective if the Enchantress stayed as ignorant of technology as she seemed to be. 

Tricks that he wished he could stay focused on for more than a few seconds.

With an annoyed groan Tinker leaned back in the chair he’d been provided, staring empty-headed at the crumbly purple bricks in the ceiling. He’d been so distracted from his work lately by the antics of a certain thickly-accented colleague of his, and surmised that getting forcibly whisked away from that complication had been a blessing in disguise. 

And yet, more often than he’d care to admit, Propeller Knight was whirring his way through Tinker’s attempted train of thought, in grave danger of derailing it entirely. Even with the path to victory on a silver platter Tinker could not help returning to the question of how Propeller must be feeling, how he must be taking Tinker’s sudden kidnapping.

He’d gone for Tinker’s shirt, tried to pull him back. Tinker still felt it, in a small section of the back of his shirt that was now slightly less tucked into his pants than the rest of the garment. For some reason he didn’t really want to fix it. And then, well… He sighed. Why was he so concerned over it? Sure, him and Propeller were friends, but Propeller was as carefree as they came. Him and the others were probably proceeding just fine without Tinker, reconstructing their plan and growing ever-prepared to handle the Enchantress and whatever Tinker ended up making to please her. 

Speaking of which, it was time to get to work. Tinker stood up on his chair, clapping his gloved hands onto the workbench in front of him as if ordering himself to action. Despite the Enchantress’s lack of knowledge when it came to technology, she had provided him a decent, if not dingy workshop. On the wall above the workbench many tools were mounted, and multifunctional bits of hardware were organized in the drawers below the tabletop. A roll of parchment for blueprints stood upright in the corner, and even bottles of chemicals and coolants were lined up on shelves on the opposite wall. Presumably if Tinker needed them for steampower, or perhaps explosives? Now he was wondering if she’d seen fit to capture Plague Knight as well, for a similar “grand design.” If she did, surely she wouldn’t be stupid enough to put them to work in the same room. 

Of course, everything was still about a foot too high for Tinker to comfortably navigate around. In all her infinite power and influence the Enchantress probably could have conjured up a more accessible space, but Tinker was hardly surprised she hadn’t. Got to keep one’s subordinates down somehow. Tinker couldn’t complain about a tall, heavy roll of parchment, though. His ideas tended to call for a large canvas.

After heaving over the parchment and cutting a large swath for blueprints, Tinker Knight began running ideas through his head, staring focused out the small window by the workbench. One might think the cloudy sky outside wouldn’t inspire much, but Tinker was already scribbling some things down. He hadn’t a notebook (or, more commonly used by him, loose leaf scraps of paper), but it didn’t take long for the large sheet he’d prepared to fill up with tight-lettered scribbles and stiff-wristed doodles. There were three choices, really: Land-based, air-based, or amphibious. Well, if Tinker really wanted to he could make a machine that was all three, but weakness was the important thing here.  
An air-based machine had a lot of versatility, even if the physics involved in deciding how to make things fly was always a hassle. Jet-powered was undoubtedly the most powerful choice of thrust, but Tinker knew from experience with the mobile gear that it drained fuel like no one’s business. That could be a weakness, giving the Enchantress a flying vessel and watching it run out of fuel in a matter of minutes? 

“Unless her soul alone serves as the fuel,” Tinker muttered, scrapping the idea. Was it her soul? Hell if he knew, he was a scientist, not a magic scholar. In any case, jet power was a no-go. 

What about propellers? Those were far more conservative on energy, not to mention more nimble. They were fast, reliable, a little loud, but a lot of personality…  
Tinker blinked out of his thoughts, caught off-guard by where they’d gone. No, that was Propeller. The person, not the mechanical component. How had he barged his way into Tinker’s mind yet again?  
The engineer shook his head in frustration. No more distractions. Propeller wasn’t even there to be a distraction, anyway. Unfortunately. No, fortunately!

With a beleaguered sigh, Tinker Knight decided to put a pin in propellers for later. For all their versatility, they went down easy if too large of an object was thrown in the works, and that was certainly a weakness to be exploited.  
His remaining options left much to be desired, though. Harnessing hot air with balloons was a possibility, sure, but they were slow. Used more to hold up a flying machine, rather than take it anywhere. Everything that came to mind after that began to cross into land-based vessels. The machine could be spring-loaded? Designed around some kind of piston-based jumping ability?  
Tinker began sketching out a curved chassis, coiled springs and retracted pistons, the beginnings of his proto-design’s “legs.”  
A sleek, aerodynamic setup was ideal for any machine whose mobility was based around vertical acceleration… That was how Propeller did it, cutting through clouds like a knife, Tinker mused absentmindedly as his gaze dwindled back to his window view. His torso was slender, and his legs were long and flexible. Watching him do his usual acrobatics, it was all too easy to appreciate how he’d trained himself for such a particular craft. His waist turned like an oiled servo when he changed directions, his calves relaxed and flexed in perfect time when he allowed himself to drop into a spin or straddled to slow his momentum, and he did it all so effortlessly, with that odd whooping laugh of his…

“Agh! No more!” Tinker griped aloud, smacking the bolts at the sides of his mask with both hands. “This isn’t getting you anywhere!”  
He supposed it wasn’t entirely off-topic to think of Propeller Knight as an example for what he was getting at. He did have very nice legs, and his command over aerial mobility was unmatched, but his admirable charisma was entirely unrelated to the task at hand. No machine ran on charisma, even if Propeller undoubtedly possessed enough of it to make an inexhaustible power source.  
Great, now Tinker was thinking about him again. His thoughts of purposefully flawed evil vessels grew dominated by idle concerns, anger at himself for getting captured so easily. He’d worried Propeller out of his mind, probably. Or maybe he’d been sufficiently comforted by Specter. That prospect especially consumed Tinker, for reasons he couldn’t explain. 

Tinker’s face burned as he stared through the half-baked blueprints on the bench, a headache beginning to ravage the depths of his meandering brain. Propeller’s absence should have made it easier to work, not harder. Now was just about the worst time to try and analyze why the exact opposite had been proven, but if Tinker didn’t find another way to divert his mind soon -

A strange squeaking noise sounded from the windowsill, and Tinker Knight gratefully allowed himself to get distracted by it, hopping off his chair and shuffling over to investigate.  
Sitting at the window was what was unmistakably one of King Knight’s propeller rats, boredly chittering and pawing at its nose. How had it made its way up the tower? It was a miracle it hadn’t been caught.  
Tinker’s musing switched gears when he noticed that strapped in the rat’s harness was a small rolled-up parchment. Quickly, he brought it into the workshop, muttering a promise of food as soon as he was next provided some.

Upon carefully removing the scroll, it was clear it contained a message of some kind, but when Tinker recognized the flowery script it was written in, his heart did an involuntary backflip. He wasted no time absorbing every word.

_Tinker, mon cher ami!_

_Shame on you for frightening me so, your untimely disappearance was so dramatic that for a moment I feared you might be gone! Of course, I moved deftly past such foolish assumptions, and imagine you are already hard at work thinking your way out of whatever dingy cell that evil Enchantress has thrown you into. My worries have far from subsided, however, and thus I have sent you this little message._

_If you are able to respond, is everything alright where you are? That is to say, I’m hoping you have not been injured in any way. I’m certain you would not feel compelled to describe any aspect of your present situation as “alright.”_

_Do not worry, dear Tinker. We are all trying our very hardest to rescue you, and carry on your plans in your absence._

_En pensant á toi,_

_Propeller_

Tinker read through the note no less than five times before the fluttery feeling in his chest grew too strong to continue. It was a dreadfully distracting sensation. He remembered it from a few days ago, when he’d seen Propeller from a distance the night after the Enchantress had been unsealed. When his chest fluttered like that, his mind quieted down entirely.  
In any other situation that would be most unwelcome, but at the moment a soft mental reboot was precisely what Tinker needed. Worries of Propeller’s state of mind melted and gave way to a new objective: he had to send a response. Of course, Tinker would be more careful. Propeller’s message was delivered effortlessly via luck alone, and Tinker left nothing to chance.  
Inspired anew, Tinker Knight grabbed scraps of metal, gears, screwdrivers and small wires. He saw no need for blueprints with a perfect planned cross-section at the forefront of his mind.

By now, this fluttery feeling of his was difficult enough to ignore that some small part of him began to recognize it for what it was. But, for the moment, his intellect won out and quietly filed away that semi-realization for a less hectic time.

===—===

“Hmph! You doubt the skill and loyalty of my rats?”

Propeller Knight jolted to attention. He’d been channeling Tinker a moment, lost in thought as he stared off into the middle distance. “ _Au contraire, petit roi!_ I am only worried for my, ah...my friend, you see. Tinker’s very dear to me -”

“Yes, yes, a real pain, that he’s been taken like this,” acknowledged King Knight boredly. “But you’d better hope he gets back to you soon. I don’t spare my subjects to just anyone, you know.”

“Apparently, to anyone who asks nicely enough!” observed Propeller, cracking a smirk. King’s fists shook in irritation.

“That wasn’t acting nicely, you...you bewitched me!” he spat. “Share some of that dreadful charisma, wouldn’t you? You clearly possess far too much…”

Propeller laughed. “Ah, I would if I could, _petit roi!_ Clearly, you have quite a need for it.”

King fumed, and turned to storm off. “I’m far too important to trade empty words with a pernicious pirate… And if you call me a puh-tee raw one more time, I’ll decree your airship landlocked indefinitely!”

“Hoh, as if you could!” called Propeller after him, amused by his poor pronunciation. Now that that little distraction had left his periphery, however, his amusement quickly dissolved under the burbling acid of worry that had been percolating in his stomach for the past several hours. He looked out over the deck of the flying machine at the Tower of Fate in the distance, trying to guess which of its many windows Tinker was behind. If he was indeed in the Tower proper, of course. It was entirely likely that the Enchantress had thrown him in some underground dungeon. The thought of it threatened to bring his blood to a boil.

“Worrying doesn’t really suit you, you know.”

Propeller turned in time to see Specter Knight appear hovering over the deck, and sighed dramatically, leaning one arm on the ship’s railing.  
“The man who does all my worrying for me is locked in that tower!” he lamented, throwing out one arm towards the foreboding distance. “I suppose I’m meant to simply move on and forget him until we have won?”

“Well, yes,” answered Specter quizzically. “I’m almost certain he’d do the same if you were the one taken away.”

Propeller furrowed his brow in thought under his helmet. “ _Peu-être_ , but that does not mean I have to like doing it! And what do you mean, almost?” he added, leaning in curiously. “You know something I don’t?”

“Not now,” said Specter. “I came to fetch you. Plague and his associate are waiting for you on the landing platform, to go over Tinker’s plans.”

“Ahh, yes,” sighed Propeller, switching on his blades. “Such a tease you are… We’ll, ah, put a pin in this, _oui?_ ”

“Put a pin in -” Specter shook his head. “Sure thing, Tinker Knight.”

Propeller had to laugh at that as he ascended and flew over the side of the deck in search of his beaked colleague. Against the dull blueish hue of Tinker’s tower, he wasn’t very difficult to spot. 

“Plague Knight, _monsieur!_ ” Propeller greeted as he landed on the platform. “And Mona, _ma dame,_ ” he added with a small bow, in acknowledgement of Plague’s fair partner. “Dreadfully sorry to keep the both of you waiting…”

“You, hee hee, certainly did!” griped Plague, arms crossed. “We’ve been standing here for -”

“Five minutes, maybe,” interrupted Mona, gently putting a hand on Plague’s shoulder. “It’s no big deal. Let’s get to work.”

“ _Oui_ , about that,” Propeller said. “I am no engineer, as I’m sure you know. Thus, I have requested your council to, ah…decipher what Tinker’s left?”

“Hee, of course! Your head is full of nothing but clouds, isn’t it?” giggled Plague, bouncing from foot to foot impatiently. “Don’t you worry, we’ll mince these plans of Tinker’s into words you can swallow.”

“And if _you_ are to swallow them, I imagine they must be puréed into a fine juice!” retorted Propeller, sauntering past them and into the tower. “Now, Tinker’s employees have relocated his unfortunate prototype back to his workshop, as well as his blueprints and instructions. I’ll show you there, if you’ll just follow me.”

Plague and Mona jogged and strolled respectively behind him, their footsteps drowning steadily under the cacophony of cogs and gears as the three of them advanced deeper into Tinker’s magnum opus. With how often Tinker had gone on about it while working on the flying machine, Propeller felt as if he had visited the tower far more often than he actually had. He’d invited himself in a few times, but Tinker was never very hospitable when disturbed unexpectedly. Always complaining about headaches and noise…

Within a few minutes, Propeller Knight located the heavy steel door that led to Tinker’s workshop. He heaved the door open and stood aside, allowing Plague and Mona to enter. In one corner stood the faulty transmission device responsible for Tinker’s capture, and the nearby workbench was piled high with blueprints for various systems, devices, and grander mechanisms. 

“A lot to work with, here,” Mona muttered, sounding mildly impressed. “Let’s get to work. I’m sure at least one of these blueprints or prototypes has something we could use…”

Plague groaned, looking a great deal more deflated now that he had actually been presented with the task of going through pages and pages of technical jargon and cramped handwriting. “Hee, yes, let’s…pick that dusty, tiresome brain of Tinker’s…” he trailed off, dragging his feet over to the crowded workbench.

Mona rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to be a drama queen about it, you can just do the prototype half of the investigation, you know? I know you like experimenting, even if it isn’t alchemical…”

At that suggestion, Plague straightened back up, and immediately redirected towards the large slumbering machine in the corner. “Ah, of course, hee hee! Why didn’t I think of it myself? Really, it’s a grand opportunity, Tinker never lets me touch his devices… Until they’re all finished, of course! Oh, you know me so very well,” he giggled, rubbing his hands together as he prepared to begin his investigation.

“Well, I should hope I do,” Mona replied, cracking a dull half-smile. “I wouldn’t be too good of a partner otherwise…”

Plague let another flustered giggle escape him, and based on the way he shakily tapped his fingers together it was difficult to imagine he wasn’t blushing under his beak, whatever that looked like.  
It was only at that moment that Propeller Knight grew aware of the odd hollow pang in his chest, and how quiet it had made him over the past few minutes. This simply could not do, of course, not in the presence of company. 

He cleared his throat loudly, and stuck his hands on his hips in pseudo-confidence. “ _Donc alors,_ what am I? A third wheel? Quite an unprofessional way we’re going about things,” he remarked, joining Plague over at the faulty machine.

Mona scoffed as she weighed down the corners of an unfurled blueprint. “You’re complaining about professionalism? That’s a new one.”

“Oh, don’t mind him, hee hee!” insisted Plague, toying with the switchboard on the transmission device. “He’s just dreadfully ill!”

“Am I, now?” Propeller queried, cracking open the large manual Tinker had composed for the transmission device. There had to be a few words in there he’d understand. “And what am I ill with, _monsieur docteur?_ ”

“Why, you’re sick with longing, of course! Mad with it!” declared Plague with a giggle, tapping the machine’s massive central coil with a couple thin knuckles. “I should have seen the symptoms before, hee hee, even all the way back at that terrible party… But ever since old Tinker disappeared it’s been, hee, laughably obvious!”

Propeller was rather irritated by how hot his face was getting over these droll accusations. “And I presume you have a wealth of firsthand experience with this particular illness, _oui?_ ” he returned, twisting his anxious grimace into a smirk. 

Plague’s shoulders tensed as if tugged upwards by an overzealous puppeteer, and he made a funny sort of squawk in the back of his throat. “W-Well, th-that is to say, I’m not, hee hee, speaking from experience, by any stretch!” he stammered, glancing anxiously over at Mona. “I-I just m-meant to say, you...well –”

Propeller interrupted his sputtering with a triumphant chuckle, his mood improved somewhat by getting a leg up on the alchemist. “I cannot say I am surprised, that a man of your particular expertise casts stones in glass houses!” he chided, idly continuing his unqualified quest through the manual.

Finally, he seemed to come across a section of interest. Adjusting the area of effect… Propeller recognized the large numbered dial in the drawn diagram. Tinker had turned that up all the way, hadn’t he? Beside the tight-lettered paragraph explaining the dial’s function, there was a long, indecipherable equation. Based on how the variables were defined, it seemed like it was meant to calculate how high the machine’s power level had to be to support a particular radius… Perhaps there was something there, but it hurt Propeller’s brain just to look at all that math. 

Before he could attempt to experiment regardless, the heavy jogging footsteps of a cogslotter cut into the grinding background noise. “Sirs! And, er, miss,” they addressed awkwardly, advancing towards them with something shiny cradled carefully in their mitts. “This arrived at the tower’s front step a minute or two ago. We’re pretty certain it’s from the boss…”

“Hee, what? Tinker?” exclaimed Plague incredulously. “How?!”

He rushed to investigate, and Propeller was quick to join him. “It has only been some hours since I sent my own message…” he murmured, heart suddenly pounding against his ribs.

“Explains a couple things. The thing’s kind of a rush job, by his standards,” remarked the cogslotter, extending their arms out to show the knights. Sitting in their large gloves was what was unmistakably a small, mechanical bird. It was a dull steel color, and stood up upon one upright gear, not unlike Tinker’s electrodents or now-defunct clockameleons. Its metal wings were presently folded, but as it ruffled them somewhat clumsily it was clear they functioned via the use of four small rockets, two on each side. Screws and a small drill bit made up its eyes and beak, and its chest appeared to serve as the door to some kind of compartment.  
It was so distinctly Tinker’s style, and he hadn’t made anything like it in some months. Despite the present circumstances, Propeller Knight was absolutely delighted by the sight of the smart little bird.

“Hm, looks like standard Tinker fare to me, hee hee!” Plague pointed out, reading Propeller’s mind. “But surely he didn’t only send this pewter pigeon?”

“Oh, no, sir knight. It rapped on the door with its beak, and when we answered it deposited this little scroll,” the cogslotter explained, producing said scroll from their apron pocket. “The few of us at the door took a small glance at it, but it’s addressed to Propeller Knight.”

“ _Vraiment?_ ” exclaimed Propeller, snatching up the rolled scrap of parchment. Ignoring Plague’s sly snickering from next to him, he eagerly opened it up and read through the message inside.

_Prop -_

_Thanks for the message. Not in cell, Ench. has me at work on a mech vessel for her. Great chance to get a leg up, looking to sneak a fatal flaw or two into the design. Hope you’re not worrying as much about me as I was about you._

_Use the bird to send any progress you and the others make, if I hear of it in time I can tweak my design to work with it. Just fit your message in and flip its switch, it knows where to go. Remember to refuel it before you send it on its way, the rockets take a lot of energy. Will work out that kink when I can._

_Tinker_

_P.S. If King asks, the rat is fine. Feeding him whenever I get food._

“Hee, well? What does it say?” prompted Plague, jumping to try and sneak a glance himself. “Or is it, hee hee… _private?_ ”

The letter did feel more than a little personal, despite its expectedly professional tone. Aside from the fact that it had indeed been addressed personally to Propeller, it felt like more than a quick status update. “ _Hope you’re not worrying as much about me as I was about you_ ”... 

“A-Ah, well, the Enchantress has not imprisoned him!” answered Propeller, aware he was taking a little too long to answer. “Well, not entirely… Apparently she has work for him to do.”

“Huh?” Plague snatched the note before Propeller could hold it out of his reach, much to the latter’s chagrin. The tip of Plague’s beak touched the paper as he scanned its contents. “Aha! So she wants a fancy new body! Hee, how very intriguing…”

“Hm, guess she’s learned from trying to possess a living vessel,” Mona remarked. “I’m not sure why she thinks a mechanical body will work out any better, though… Machines are just as fiddly as biological constructs...”

“Because she has no knowledge of machines!” recalled Propeller. “That was what Tinker was looking to exploit, before he was captured. And by the sound of this note, he is in a better position than ever to try!”

“Hee, well, surely he’s smart enough to know that she won’t let him do as he pleases!” scoffed Plague. “She’ll probably be, hee hee, breathing down his neck every step of the way…”

“ _Oui,_ but if we give him knowledge of our own plans, he could be able to design the vessel very specifically, to work in tandem with a plan she is at least somewhat unaware of!” Propeller pointed out, putting a couple fingers to the bottom of his helmet in thought. “If only we had any news for him…”

“Oh, are you three having trouble with the pulse emitter manual?” asked the cogslotter, pointing at it with their free hand. “The boss kept more or less to himself while he was making the thing, so I don’t blame you… His plans get kind of esoteric in the early drafts.”

Propeller looked to the manual, having half-forgotten that he was even holding it. “Oh, oui, I was looking at the, ah, area of effect? This equation is certainly quite confounding…”

The masked employee craned their neck over to look at it. “That thing? Heck, that’s the simplest thing on the page! You just plug in the radius here, and then subtract this constant from each side…” It didn’t take Propeller long to tune out. Even when Tinker himself went into equations and variables, it was hard to try and stay interested in a bunch of numbers.

“Yes, well, what is the energy required for the machine’s biggest radius?” Propeller asked as soon as the cogslotter seemed to be done with their explanation. They took a glance at the dial, then muttered a little to themself, probably working out the equation in their head. Propeller never understood how anyone managed to do that. 

“Well, that would be several million volts,” the cogslotter finally said. “And if a machine like this generated that much energy, with the coil that close to the switchboard, it would be operating outside its safety parameters.”

Propeller would have smacked his own forehead, if there was not a layer of gilded metal protecting it. “Safety, _bîen sur!_ So you mean to say that the machine would not work as intended upon being set to a certain radius?”

“Nope, knowing the boss, he probably installed some kind of lock or latch to prevent the coil from generating over a certain amount of volts. A machine this complicated does need a lot of energy, and it would be easy to overestimate the amount.”

“Of course, of course,” Propeller muttered like he understood, though his mind was presently racing nonetheless. If they were to generate that much power, perhaps with the coil farther away, like the cogslotter had said…  
“ _Garçon!_ ” he demanded with a snap of his fingers. “Hand me Tinker’s bird. I have a message to send.”

===—===

“ _Well? Show me your progress thus far. Show me that I have not miscalculated in soliciting your expertise._ ”

Tinker cleared his throat and turned to his blueprints, propped on a three-legged stand. It was an unusual circumstance, pitching a design in front of a magic mirror with only the barest semblance of a face, but he wasn’t unused to pitching to the Enchantress, at least.

“Well, I have a couple iterations of the same general design,” Tinker started, pointing a finger at the slim chassis on the first page. “I assumed you wanted a humanoid base, but that can always be tweaked.”

“ _You assume correctly. However, you need not restrict yourself to the makeup of my old borrowed form._ ” The mirror crackled with electricity, and Tinker resisted the urge to suggest the inclusion of a power-balancing mechanism. “ _There is a place for allowing one’s enemies to underestimate you, but ultimately what one presents must be indicative of their true power. Surely a man of your stature well understands that notion._ ”

“I do,” said Tinker, resisting the reflex to bristle in annoyance. He may have decided to capitulate to the Enchantress’s whims for the time being, but he certainly wasn’t going to take bait like that for her amusement. “You must keep in mind, of course, that a larger machine will take more energy to run.”

“ _Oh, you need not worry about that. My arcane power will more than suffice for whatever you construct._ ” So, her “soul” or “essence” or whatever would indeed serve as the machine’s power source. Tinker filed that away for a later date.

“Great. Well, here are the iterations I was talking about,” Tinker mentioned, pointing to a few smaller sketches to the right of the main one. “To enable flight in the machine, the two most efficient options are propellers and rockets. Rockets are more precise, but they take more power.”

“ _As I said, power is of no concern. The rockets will serve as sufficient thrust, as well as intimidation,_ ” The Enchantress mused. “ _The propellers, they put me too much in mind of that...insolent flying socialite. What a mistake it was, to allow his recruitment into my Order. A most boastful weak link…_ ”

“Propeller Knight wasn’t a weak link,” Tinker said before he could stop himself. 

The mirror crackled once again, and the amorphous visage displayed within turned quizzical. “ _Oh? Then what was he?_ ”

Tinker felt sweat under his mask. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t said anything, that would make her even more suspicious. “His… His strengths lie elsewhere from his firepower. He’s a strong personality, an entertainer, not a general.”

“ _So confident in your assertions… I would have hardly guessed such an unruly, incompatible lot as those of my Order would remain close._ ”

“Well, we...live in the same valley, don’t we,” Tinker reasoned flatly, tightening the fist at his side in spite of himself. “It’s only natural that we cross paths every now and then.”

“ _Indeed, from my vantage point prior to my...borrowing of your services, it seemed you and this Propeller were collaborating in quite close quarters,_ ” the Enchantress observed curiously.

Tinker clenched his jaw. “I think we’ve gotten off the topic at hand.”

A strange, garbled ethereal laugh pealed from the mirror, and Tinker once again braced himself from rogue bolts of electricity. “ _Ah, yes, indeed we have! I am entirely to blame for it… You’re just so very fascinating… A strong personality, like your Propeller Knight, yes?_ ”

“He’s not mine,” Tinker muttered, ignoring the heat in his face. He didn’t know if an ancient arcane being like the Enchantress could see through the steel of his welding mask, and he didn’t wish to find out.

“ _Oh, I didn’t think so… But, if you would like him to be, that can always be arranged,_ ” the Enchantress suggested with another laugh. “ _These are discussions for a more auspicious time, however. Please, do continue with your presentation_.”

“Very well, your illustriousness,” Tinker conceded, unable to entirely hold back the bite in his voice.

“ _And do try to remain alert as to where your loyalties lie,_ ” added the Enchantress. “ _If you happen to lose purchase of your rightful conviction… I can verily ensure that it never leaves you again._ ”

Tinker nodded along stoutly, tuning out the Enchantress as he launched back into his status update. Even after a few days in captivity, he wasn’t anywhere close to losing his conviction. And now that his mechanical messenger was functioning two ways, as intended, he was feeling more invigorated than ever. Certainly, the Enchantress remained a force to be reckoned with, but Tinker’s plans grew more solid every day.  
The only matter that remained was...well, his feelings. And unfortunately, it didn’t appear that Enchantress would allow him to exclude those from the present circumstances as easily as he’d hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the slow burn has burst into flame!! i've been looking forward to getting to this point with tinker for some time, and am quite excited to get further into the third-act action and of course, ~~the passion~~... 
> 
> anyway, thanks so much for 500 hits, and your comments have been lovely as always! see you in a couple weeks, i hope!


	10. Alive in the Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haHA, bet you thought you were only getting one chapter this month! or maybe you didn't. i certainly did, for awhile! school's been busy and stressful lately, and this is like, the third act of the story! i didn't want to write this chapter out until i knew just where i was going. lo and behold, now i do! hope you all enjoy this one.

_Enchantress has supplied me with work force to assemble the vessel quicker. It’s around halfway complete, but our productivity is increasing exponentially as the client in question gets more impatient._

_Chassis is copper, very conducive of electricity. Jet-powered flight should be easy to take down bit by bit. Height is around four times yours, I would say. Gear system in core unprotected, trying to design around your plans as much as I can._

_Wish you were here._

Wish you were here! It took Propeller Knight a moment to recognize that Tinker had written anything else. His captivity must be getting to him, if he was so casually slipping things like that into professional updates. Propeller would hardly allow himself to imagine it meant anything more than it appeared, of course, but it was still quite a flattering thing to read.

As it stood, what Tinker Knight had included since his last letter only strengthened the plans that Propeller and the others had been putting together over the past few days. He could easily predict that today’s meeting would be carried out without a hitch, if it weren’t for the eternal uncooperativeness of his allies. Part of him did wish Tinker would respond a little more directly to the more personal parts of the letters he wrote in return… Perhaps it just wasn’t the best of times for Propeller to put his feelings into writing, no matter how unobtrusively. 

Upon jumping from the flying machine’s deck, Propeller immediately swerved to avoid a pair of chittering mechanical birds. Ever since Tinker had started sending updates in secret via the small metal pigeon he’d invented, the skies of the valley’s third quadrant had grown steadily more overwhelmed with similar avian automatons. In Tinker’s updates, he had explained the necessity of building them in order to throw off any suspicion about why one seemed to exit and return to the tower so often. As far as the Enchantress knew, they were her mobile spies, but their programming conveniently steered them away from anywhere particularly important.

One such location was the stranded ship by the coast, where Propeller and the other allies of Pridemoor had agreed to hold their war council. It was out of the tower’s view, and despite his infamous misanthropy Polar Knight had been enthusiastic in his insistence that it be used for the meeting. Well, enthusiastic by his standards, anyway.

Propeller had never visited the stranded ship before, even when he and Polar Knight were unwilling coworkers, and thus it was an underwhelming surprise that the ship’s entrance was apparently a large hole in the hull. If he hadn’t managed to catch the garish red of King Knight’s cape disappearing through it, a lot more time would have been wasted looking for a proper threshold. “ _Je n'aurais pas dû m'attendre à mieux…_ ” Propeller muttered to himself, landing carefully on the icy ground. 

He could already hear a few muffled voices as he went in, indicating that he was a tad late. How late, Propeller wasn’t entirely sure, but he’d tarried a little at the flying machine in anticipation for Tinker’s update.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, it would be easiest to just blast that tower to kingdom come and be done with it! Frankly, I’m shocked our resident demolitions man doesn’t agree!”

“You’re confusing me with the mole, hee hee! And besides, it isn’t so simple! The only reason I was able to level that old eyesore was because I had, hee, a particularly big bomb! One that would be dreadfully inconvenient to acquire again..”

“And I don’t agree either, by the by! I think you’re forgetting we’ve got one of our own guys in the tower.”

“Who, Tinker? I don’t see how he’s such a big deal… It was his fault in the first place, anyway!”

No one immediately rose to counter King Knight’s argument, as they had all noticed Propeller’s arrival and were either staring or averting their eyes. Propeller certainly wasn’t unused to attracting attention when he entered a room, but he was mildly baffled as to why it might be happening at this particular moment.

With this uncomfortable change of mood, Propeller hastened to join the splintering round table everyone was seated at. Aside from the former order, Shovel and Black Knight were in attendance, as well as the former protector of the Lich Yard. Propeller didn’t know much about him, but had taunted his way into enough duels to know just what sort of “strikes” his title referred to.

“Propeller Knight!” Shovel finally greeted, breaking the silence. “Do you bring any news from Tinker Knight?”

“I do, _oui,_ ” answered Propeller with a nod, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the tabletop. Polar grunted in annoyance from beside him, but made no move to demand he change his position. “But it appears all of you may know something I don’t, hmm? Side-eyeing me on my way in?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you came in time to hear King’s brilliant idea,” Mole said, picking at an icy patch on the table with his claw.

“It is a brilliant idea!” insisted King. “Much simpler than all this ‘planning’ we’re doing…”

“I’d agree with it if you just meant to shatter that mirror the Enchantress is in,” said Treasure Knight. “Just as simple, more cost-effective, and Tinker doesn’t have to worry about getting backstabbed unprovoked.”

Specter Knight sighed in annoyance from two seats away. “None of you buffoons ever listen, do you? I’ve told you, it’s no ordinary mirror she’s inhabited. Tinker has the right idea. We wait for her to come out in a less magically-reinforced form, and then we strike.”

“Ah, speaking of striking!” Propeller cut in, raising a finger. “I see our electrifying ally has finally arrived at the scene?”

The Phantom Striker nodded, straightening up in his chair. “I hastened back to the valley as soon as I heard of the Enchantress’s return. Reize sent for me, insisting I had a crucial part to play in our impending counter-attack.”

“And you do! I would like to assume everyone here told you of the machine Tinker constructed…” Propeller muttered, looking around at his colleagues. All former Order members traded looks of sheepishness and annoyance, in equal amounts.

“Well, hee, we _were_ , before golden boy over here stole the show!” groused Plague Knight, gesturing over at King with the flask in one of his hands. 

King shrunk back ever-so-slightly, as if in fear of the flask’s contents, but quickly turned the gesture around into a self-important scoff. “I won’t apologize for being the only one here with common sense!”

“That’s about the last phrase I’d use to describe whatever you have…” muttered Specter.

“Everyone, please!” spoke up Shovel, raising a hand in exasperation. “All this squabbling, it’s.. Well, it isn’t getting us anywhere!” Shield was presently out on a reconnaissance patrol with Mona, and clearly Shovel wasn’t quite used to being put in charge of rallying everyone together. “Er… Can we not just run over the plan now? Bygones can be bygones for the moment, under the present circumstances…”

“Under the present circumstances,” repeated Specter, standing to address the table. “Shovel is correct. Surely we can resist clawing at each other’s throats until this greater evil has been dealt with. Now,” he continued, before anyone could point out that he himself had also partaken in the in-fighting. “A fortnight past, Tinker Knight, the valley’s foremost engineering authority, repaired the Enchantress’s magic mirror, un-sealing her essence and paving the way for the reconstruction of the Tower of Fate and the reassembly of the Enchantress’s forces.”

“Accidentally!” Propeller added insistently, leaning over the table. “It was hardly an intentional mistake.”

Specter cast him an impatient glance. “...Yes. The accidental nature of it is hardly relevant by this point. Overall, that is the chain of events that led to the Enchantress’s return. We began plans to neutralize her before she began to build her forces back up, but since then we have had to revise those plans extensively. The mirror Tinker repaired was partially mechanical, and as such the Enchantress saw fit to kidnap him and solicit his expertise for her revival.”

“Which he does not intend to do!” cut in Propeller. “ _Au contraire_ , he is in the perfect place to sabotage her instead!”

Specter sighed raggedly. “I was just getting to that. He has been communicating with us in secret, detailing every element of the mechanical vessel the Enchantress has ordered him to construct. As such, our plans have grown more and more refined over the past several days. That’s where you come in, Striker,” he continued, pointing meaningfully towards the seasoned warrior across the table.

Striker’s spiked helmet nodded sagely. “You have a need for my particular technique, against this mechanical foe.”

“Precisely. Prior to Tinker’s kidnapping, he designed and constructed a device with the purpose of disabling the Enchantress’s semi-mechanical forces. With the combined effort of his employees, that device has been altered to disable the shell he has been commissioned to build. The only caveat is that it requires a massive amount of power to function, a power that cannot be reliably generated through controlled scientific means.”

“And this device… it functions?”

“Well, we’ve done a few small-scale tests,” said Specter. “With smaller machines. It functions fine there, but we cannot in certainty say the same about something as large as what Tinker is building for the Enchantress.”

Again Propeller felt the urge to do some damage control. “Not that he is intending to make things more difficult for us! All that he does is the Enchantress unnegotiable will!”

Specter raised an exasperated hand to his own helmet, tensing as if to withhold an outburst of greater annoyance. “We...know that. No one is advocating for placing any blame on Tinker, short of those lacking a proper brain.”

“Bold words for a probably brainless mummified corpse!” shot King from across the table.

“Yet it would appear not one part of our plan revolves around his rescue,” argued Propeller. “What do you imagine will happen once he is finished with the vessel? Once the Enchantress makes the discovery that he has betrayed her? Even if she is not there to exact retribution, she has a hive-mind of forces at her beck and call to do the job for her!”

“Ohh, hee, you’re worried about that?” asked Plague. “Tinker isn’t a fool, you know! Certainly he has a plan to, hee hee, get out of dodge before that happens!”

“Besides, he isn’t our priority right now,” added Shovel, gesturing meaningfully with one arm. “The Valley is. I don’t doubt he has enough honor to know this, and understand it.”

Propeller’s gloved fingers curled into loose fists on the tabletop. “That is what I’m afraid of,” he muttered, almost too quiet for anyone to hear. He couldn’t get Tinker’s outburst from a few weeks back out of his mind. Tinker meant to prove himself, and had no threshold for what he would compromise in order to do so. Was that honorable? Perhaps, but Propeller couldn’t just stand by with no one even attempting to fit Tinker into their valley-saving masterplan. He was part of the Valley too, wasn’t he?

Before anyone could make an attempt to awkwardly change the topic, a sudden tremor shook the stranded ship. Icicles and chunks of frost rained from the old wood beams above the congregation of knights, many of whom promptly shielded themselves from the sharp icy onslaught. Once the tremor ceased, the ship continued to creak and groan beneath everyone’s feet, as if threatening to slide down the mountain it was perpetually half-embedded in. 

Polar Knight stood carefully. “Need to check the ship’s structural integrity,” he stated gruffly. “You all should probably leave.”

“Just as well,” said Specter, flipping his scythe over his shoulder. “With a shock like that, our impending battle may arrive sooner than expected.”

Plague jumped up from his seat, sending another creak of protest through the floorboards. “Shall we, hee hee, show our new battery to the pulse emitter?”

“Hm, good to see the Valley’s hospitality hasn’t deteriorated any,” groused Striker, pulling his cloak tighter around his torso.

In small groups, the knights all filed out of the unstable shipwreck. The sky outside seemed somehow darker, the sun hidden by thick dark clouds rolling in from the east. Paired with the pinkish hue that seemed to outline all these clouds, it did indeed seem like the Enchantress was gearing up sooner than expected. But Tinker’s most recent letter had declared the project only half complete… Propeller’s worries only grew harder to ignore. 

“Propeller Knight. A word?”

Snapping out of his anxious trance, Propeller looked to his left to see Black Knight’s gauntlet and red horns poking up from behind an icy boulder. His hand came down on the boulder’s surface, and with a grunt of effort the strange knight scaled the boulder and got to his feet, bringing the butt of his spade down with a determined _thok_ as he straightened up self-importantly. 

“The extent of your personal concerns has not gone unnoticed,” he stated, the slot of his helmet meeting Propeller’s from atop the rock. “I know very well what it’s like, having one you care for trapped in a difficult place. So does Shovel, of course, but as I’m sure you can tell, his chivalry has a habit of clouding his judgement.”

Propeller nodded, though he felt mildly embarrassed that the root of his concern had been so obvious. “I do not mean to compromise our plans, of course! It only, ah...irks me, that none of the others are worrying any about the state Tinker’s in.”

“Say no more,” said Black, looking out towards the gathering clouds. “You feel he’s in more danger than the others assume. It seems like you’re the only one who truly cares, and you feel frustrated by the inactivity on display. It’s almost like looking into a mirror...which is why I wished to talk.” Propeller wasn’t sure he’d go quite so far as to think of himself and Black as one and the same, but couldn’t help agreeing with all he’d posited thus far. 

Black Knight swung his shovel over his shoulder. “When I was in your position, I went on the defensive. Little did I know, that was the path of inactivity, and failure. I knew what to do, but acted too late, and only prolonged the suffering of the one I cared for. Now, seeing my plight in a fellow knight… I cannot help but do my part to ensure that my mistake isn’t repeated.”

“Well, I...was considering going to rescue him myself, before the Enchantress attacks,” admitted Propeller. “With everything closer on the horizon than we assumed, I am more concerned for his safety than ever! But...that isn’t what Tinker would do. He would steel himself and work harder than ever, seeking to make himself useful however he could.”

“Hm. I’ll take your word for that, you surely know him far better than I,” conceded Black. “But no matter how well you know him, you aren’t Tinker. So then, what would _you_ do?”

Propeller chewed on that a moment, staring through the ground indecisively. When he next looked up, Black Knight was gone, hopping nimbly between large rocks in the distance, on his way to catch up with the others. Now alone, Propeller sighed in exasperation, his gaze dwindling back up to the dark sky above. 

There would be no kidding himself at this point. His mind was made up, and perhaps it had been even before Black Knight approached him. With the camel’s back broken by that final straw, Propeller Knight chipped the ice off his blades and rose up off the ground, his destination firmly in mind.

===—===

“ _You have not disappointed. The vessel you have constructed is a sleek progression of the plans you presented, down to the minutest detail._ ”

The Enchantress experimentally flexed and bent appendages, glassy viewports examining servos, wires, and cogs with a curious spark they had lacked prior to this point. Tinker Knight felt a dim curiosity himself, despite the sinister nature of the present circumstances. He hadn’t entirely believed the Enchantress could simply inhabit any vessel, without the use of some kind of soul, or anchor, or any vague logical means of connection. Nevertheless she had quite effortlessly transferred her essence from the now-dark mirror behind Tinker to the massive mechanical form before him, and though her movements were clumsy and inelegant, it wasn’t taking her long to adjust. Though Tinker tended to prefer science to the slippery, ethereal nature of magic, he had to admit the implications of the Enchantress’s abilities were as fascinating as they were unnerving. Perhaps, if she wished, she could have inhabited him at any point following his capture.

“Yes, you’ll find everything works as intended,” he assured her, ascending to her eye level on the makeshift mobile gear he had built in the fleeting breaks between developing his main project. He’d had to make at least a decent elevating platform, to supervise such a large-scale construction site. “Though I would not recommend you test the weapons systems within this room, unless you would like the tower to come down on top of you.”

The Enchantress laughed, bringing a sharp-fingered hand to the shape of the vessel’s mouth. “ _A thoughtful warning! It almost distracts from your palpable contempt. Oh, there will be time enough to make use of the systems you’ve designed. No measure, magical or mechanical, will stop me this time._ ”

Tinker nodded along, expecting to be dismissed in a few minutes. A scrap of parchment was in his apron pocket, ready for delivery as soon as he was alone. Despite the flaws he’d implemented in the design, the allied knights of the Valley definitely deserved a heads-up for the Enchantress’s attack. 

“ _That’s what you would like me to think, isn’t it._ ”

Tinker snapped to attention, confused. “Eh? What do you mean?”

A thin, ethereal sigh. “ _I suppose your intelligence is more selective than I thought._ ” After failing to snap her metal “fingers”, the Enchantress tapped the brick wall, summoning one of her liquid samurais. At her silent insistence, Tinker lowered himself back to the floor, stomach sinking in tandem with the gear. He had an inkling as to where this might be going.

“ _You did get away with it, the first few times, however many they were,_ ” she continued. The samurai procured a small stack of parchment scraps from within their cloak. “ _I foolishly imagined you would be smart enough to know not to cross me._ ”

Eyeing what was unmistakably a collection of letters, Tinker resisted making any expression of defeat or panic. This explained the lack of responses over the past few days. With all the work he’d been doing, Tinker supposed he’d been too preoccupied to think about it. 

“I assume you’ve intercepted my outgoing messages too, as of late?” he questioned flatly.

“ _Mm, your reasoning reappears,_ ” she confirmed, crouching carefully and offering a hand to the samurai. It placed the letters in her palm, and she idly shuffled through them with a couple fingers. “ _We didn’t simply keep them unopened, of course. I had yours read to me, learned all I could of your imminent betrayal… And I did the same for his._ ” She paused her shuffling to examine one letter in particular. “ _It would appear you and this Propeller Knight are a little closer than you insisted_.”

Immediately, Tinker felt heat under his mask. “What did he – I told you, we’re only colleagues,” he muttered, correcting himself a little too late.

“ _Ohohoh, even if you were a better liar, a couple of these letters weave a different narrative,_ ” the Enchantress chided. “ _A selection of the statements he intended for you are intriguing, to say the least…_ ”

Tinker buried his curiosity as deep down as he could muster. No matter how badly he wished to consider what she said further, now was far too sensitive a time to do so. “I figured you might learn of my intentions at some point,” he said instead, staring through the dark bricks in the floor. “But I didn’t think you’d find it a surprise.”

“ _A surprise? Oh, no, after witnessing so much betrayal on the part of even my most valuable underlings, I’m not certain I could be surprised by any measure of disloyalty,_ ” sighed the Enchantress, motioning the samurai to recollect the confiscated letters. “ _Nevertheless, you are a special kind of fool if you think I will turn a blind eye to even the most feeble attempt at insurrection. And with the help of these letters of yours, well… The perfect method of discipline has just about fallen into my lap._ ”

===—===

Propeller Knight worriedly searched the tower’s many windows, avoiding detection as much as he could manage. Every moment he heard another concerning tremor, thunderclap or crash outside or within the tower that made him worry even more for Tinker’s safety. The Enchantress had to have caught him off-guard, too, he hadn’t seemed like he’d known she was going to attack soon… Propeller rose higher, more concerned than ever. Tinker never did very well with unprecedented changes. 

“ _I admit, you have the most potential out of anyone I’ve solicited for my grand designs…_ ”

He recognized the echo of that voice. It was more deep and vague than the one he was used to, but the Enchantress had a very distinct cadence no matter what form she took.

“ _But, like all mortals, you have your weaknesses, and yours are more obvious than most._ ”

Propeller followed her monologue down to a thin window near the tower’s base, where a shining purplish chassis took up half the view into the high-ceilinged room within.

“ _Oh, you build these large machines, these technological marvels… Your mind is undoubtedly your finest asset. But without all those tools and tricks and devices to build you up…_ ”

Propeller gritted his teeth frantically. There was no time to spare, she clearly had him on the ropes! He leapt through the window, helmet spinning him smoothly downward. He twisted in the air to avoid the shape of what had to be the mechanical form Tinker had constructed, and the engineer himself came into view below. He stood stiff and straight-backed, like he always did when he was holding something back. Upon turning towards the noise of Propeller’s helmet, however, he tensed in a different way. His shoulders jolted up, and he took a perplexed step backward, as if he was uncertain how to react further. The mechanical mirror that began the whole Enchantress mess sat behind him, dark and unreflective. So, she had transferred to the form she’d demanded of Tinker…

Propeller touched down in front of Tinker and spun around to face the Enchantress, drawing his rapier and striking a ready stance. “ _Non_ , no more!” he declared, loud and clear. “I won’t let you near him!” 

“P-Propeller?!” Tinker stammered frantically from behind him. “What are you doing here? I wrote- I-I…told you not to come!”

“ _Your letters, confiscated. Have you already forgotten? But, enough about that. I’m quite curious, captain, about how you plan to wield that toothpick against me,_ ” the Enchantress implored with a smirk in her voice.

It was only now that Propeller looked up, way, way up, and actually took in what Tinker had devised in the “flesh.” The machine was indeed around four times his height, and every bit as impressive as it was menacing. Its feet housed plated treads, similar to those on one of Tinker’s tanks, and massive gears and rockets shaped out each of the calves of the legs.   
The arms, thin segmented tubes towards the top, thickened into cylindrical steel gauntlets, with glowing circular apertures at the ends — the machine’s “palms.” Wicked claw-like segmented plates framed said palms, forming fearsome approximations of fingers.   
The torso of the form was an organized mess of cogs, belts, and gauges, no doubt housing a tireless engine at its core. A pair of sharp, curved pauldrons adorned each shoulder, one on top of the other, almost representational of the wide, dramatic collar Propeller remembered from the Enchantress’s prior iteration.   
Extending from the vessel’s back were massive, presently folded metal wings. Neither feathers nor membranes were evoked in their design to denote a particular theme, and instead the metal skeleton of the appendages was lined with scores of more large rockets, none of which were active for the moment.  
Finally, there was the Enchantress’s synthetic face. It tangentially resembled what Propeller was used to, with the same glassy gem embedded in her “forehead” and a pair of curved metal horns curling around it and upwards. The eyes, however, were bright and empty, now merely windows to the essence within. And her mouth was merely a wrought-iron suggestion of lips, eternally frozen in an unreadable half-smirk. Propeller was again grateful for the helmet over his face, as his jaw had dropped further and further towards the floor the longer he took in all the details, the energy, the effort… It was hard not to be impressed.

“ _If this form’s presence is such that it can incapacitate on sight alone, I may have been too hasty in my condemnation,_ ” the Enchantress remarked haughtily, placing a hand on her hip. 

Propeller shook his head violently, trying to snap out of his shock. “ _C-Cela ne change rien!_ I do not care how intimidating you… _think_ you are, I still intend to run you through!”

The Enchantress sighed. “ _Yes, yes, I know, you care for him so very deeply… I was expecting you a little later, you know, but this works just as well. The stage is set nonetheless._ ”

“What?” Propeller couldn’t help but ask. “Tinker’s… His note today declared his project for you only half-complete!”

Tinker made a furious sputtering noise beside him. “You-You… You still sent out some of the letters you intercepted?!” he shouted, jabbing an accusatory finger up at the Enchantress. 

“ _Ohoh, what a temper!_ ” the Enchantress laughed. “ _Of course! I saw fit to keep your precious allies complacent, of course… so I simply spread your ‘updates’ a little thinner._ ”

“Th-That’s… You can’t…” Tinker swiveled to face Propeller. “You can escape! You can tell them, be-before it’s too late –”

“ _I’m afraid I can’t let you do that._ ” Before Propeller could take off or even respond, a massive hand swiped down at him, knocking him into the magic mirror. He felt a paralyzing shiver course through his entire body as he phased past the glass, and for a moment everything went completely dark before his back smacked into an amorphous “ground” on the other side. His blades made a horrible _clang_ as he made contact, too, but he hardly considered the ramifications of that at the moment. Forgetting his rapier, Propeller jumped back to his feet and made a beeline up to the way back through the mirror, finding it impossible to phase back through, of course. Heart pounding in his throat, he watched as the Enchantress turned her attention back to Tinker.

“ _Now, where was I…_ ”

“You...can’t… I’ll…” Tinker stammered, frozen in uncertainty.

“ _Ah, yes. Without all those tools and tricks and devices to build you up...you’re easily torn down._ ” 

An electrifying blast of energy shot from the core of the vessel, enveloping Tinker as it had when he’d first been kidnapped. The engineer struggled and keeled over before the energy lifted him off the ground, and Propeller could only bang his fists on the thick glass in vain.

_“I know you’ve built this vessel with a flaw or two…but it houses weapons, weight, and power nonetheless. So, as much as I craved utilizing this industrious force myself, I think I’ll have you go and do my dirty work for me_.” The vessel’s core peeled open, and Tinker was drawn inside. It sealed back up after him, and moments later the mechanical body sprung into sudden motion, swiveling around and swinging a fist at the wall. The bricks flew outward, crumbling to bits, and the cold sunset outside cast the room’s remaining walls in a weak orange glow. 

“ _The tower would crumble around me, you said?_ ” laughed the Enchantress. “ _A liar_ and _a jester. But, no more of that. I implore you to carry out as much of my will as you’re able before you succumb to your creation’s purposeful shortcomings… I’ve come into possession of a rather notable bargaining chip within the past few minutes._ ” The vessel, with Tinker Knight now forcibly in place at its core, spread and activated its jet-powered wings, taking off into the valley. 

Propeller gritted his teeth, breathing unevenly in an attempt to quell the pounding in his head. It had been a very long time since things had gone so badly, and even longer since he’d been taken so off-guard by it. He had to do something, of course, and he would! This mirror had another thing coming if it thought it could contain him! He just needed a moment to collect himself.

“ _Well, now that that irritant has been dealt with…_ ”

Propeller bit his bottom lip, and reluctantly turned his back to the mirror. Sure enough, the Enchantress’s harsh, magenta essence was reforming in the darkness behind him, compressing and rising to meet his height. His suspicions as to where her intentions lay were grimly confirmed as four blades formed out the top of an amorphous, cylindrical cranium.

“ _I am once again in need of a vessel,_ ” said the Enchantress, the front of her cranium splitting into the slot of Propeller’s helmet. “ _And for this one, it may be best to return to the basics._ ”

Swallowing the massive pit in his throat, Propeller crouched to retrieve his rapier. Unfortunately, it seemed he no longer had a moment to spare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this is a fine kettle of fish
> 
> hope you all enjoyed prop making some Rash Decisions in the name of love! this story's definitely escalated a whole lot since its beginning, but i think i always wanted it to end with a big-scale game-esque boss fight (though obviously it ended up being a little more unconventional in its setup). i want all the bells and whistles for these lads, they deserve it!
> 
> anyway, hopefully i'll see you all a bit sooner for the big climax! as i'm sure you'll notice by the shiny new chapter total, we are indeed in the final act here...
> 
> PS thanks so much for the comments, kudos, and 600 hits! all these things have really kept me going when it comes to writing new installments ^^


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